


Wildest Dreams

by swanssong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, One Night Stands, Pining, Sexual Content, Smut, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanssong/pseuds/swanssong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When rising star Emma Swan has a one night stand with a gorgeous man she picked up at her manager's engagement party, she doesn't expect to see him ever again. But of course her life is not that easy. (CS Modern AU inspired by the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. he said let's get out of this town

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first CS multi-chapter fic! I've been working on this off and on for seven months and decided I would finally post the first chapter (I wanted to make sure I had a decent amount of it written/knew where I was going before posting the beginning).  
> Note: As said in the summary, this story involves a one night stand. As such, there's smut in the first couple chapters. It may also pick up later on. But this will be mostly plot and not all sex. You've been warned.

Emma breathes in deeply as she steps out on the terrace. This is her favorite time of day. The sun is just dipping past the horizon, causing reds and oranges and pinks to intermingle with the purples and blues of the early twilight sky. This time of year, the sunset looks like a painting and she can’t get enough of it. She places her hands on the railing, smiling as the breeze sweeps her mane of hair off her back and over her shoulder. Emma may not be a huge fan of these stuffy parties, but she can’t deny this venue is killer. Not that she should have expected anything less. Her manager, Regina, had impeccable taste and an attitude that demanded the best. That attitude is part of what Emma loves about her as a manager. Although she can come across as abrasive at times, the lack of sugar-coating can be extremely refreshing. Emma can always count on Regina to set her straight if she’s doing something stupid. Regina’s impeccable taste is undeniable in her choice of venue for her engagement party—the Chelsea loft is nearly surrounded by windows showcasing gorgeous views of the city lights and the Hudson. Regina had the place done up with rich purple and red curtains and sleek lights, changing the space from an industrial feel to something much more sophisticated and elegant.

She stares out over the city for a long time, enjoying the view, the cooling air of late summer, and the lack of company. She hasn’t really grown accustomed to being around so many people. And even though this is not a business party, it sort of feels like one, what with the high profile people in attendance and the photographers covering the event. If it’s rude or gauche for her to be out standing on the terrace enjoying the peace and the sounds of the city below her, then so be it. Emma has been socializing all evening and her face aches from the forced smiling. She takes a long sip from her martini and closes her eyes, settling herself for a moment.

“Quite a spectacular view, wouldn’t you say?” a voice interrupts her daydreaming, causing her to jump. “Sorry to disturb you, love,” the man adds in a gorgeous accent.

Emma opens her eyes and tries not to grind her teeth at the obvious flirting. She spins around to retort something about not being this stranger’s _love_ , no matter how fucking perfectly his voice curls around the word, but stops when she meets his eyes. _Of course_ it’s him: the freakishly gorgeous looking man who was making eyes at her across the room earlier. “You don’t seem too sorry,” she says finally, raising an eyebrow at him. She sees right through the smiling, charming, gorgeous stranger thing, and she’s not about to buy the nonchalant attitude of his greeting. He followed her out here.

The stupid grin on his face grows wider (which is exactly the opposite of what she was expecting). “You know what? You’re right. But you see, I saw how you so have been interacting with people in there, so clearly out of your element. You obviously hate these sort of forced-formal interactions. So, being the gentleman I am, I thought I’d just check in to see if you’re alright.”

Emma bites down on the inside of her cheek. So Mr. Stupid-Beautiful-British-Guy _was_ watching her all evening. And he was also a cocky asshole. Wonderful. “I do not _obviously_ hate these things.”

He laughs freely at her stubborn. “You might as well be wearing a flashing sign that says ‘get me out of here’. You’re not fooling anyone, darling.”

“Well clearly I am, seeing as everyone I’ve actually talked to tonight hasn’t said a word,” she grumbles.

“Then I guess I should retract my previous statement,” he says. “You may be fooling the rest of the partygoers, but you’re not fooling me. In fact,” he continues (she wishes he would stop talking), “it seems you’re something of an open book.”

She scoffs, trying (and failing) not to roll her eyes. “Right. Because you clearly know me so well, Mr. I-don’t-even-know-your-name.”

His responding grin is dark and Emma suppresses a shiver at the way his tongue darts out from between his teeth. “Apologies, my dear. Killian Jones.” He holds out his hand proudly to shake hers. Emma simply nods in acceptance and grasps his hand. “Any chance I could have the honor of knowing your name?” he asks, clearly amused.

“Emma,” she answers.

“Just Emma?” he challenges. She shrugs. “Well, Emma. Most men may find your silence off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

She shakes her head and turns back towards the balcony to hide the smile threatening to creep across her face. She tilts her glass up to her lips and frowns when she finds it’s empty. Her shadow (now known as Killian) notices and leans against the railing to consider her face. “Would you like me to go get you a refill?” he asks tentatively.

She glances over to regard his face and is surprised to see his cocky grin is gone. She’s a little concerned with the change; Emma knows how to deal with a self-assured, flirty man. Sincerity and kindness are a little harder for her to blow off. “I can get my own drink, Jones,” she says, offering him a small smile as she turns around.

“Would you mind terribly if I join you?” He’s giving her an out, which _should_ make this easier. She can just tell him to go away and he’ll leave her alone. Instead she finds herself shaking her head, and a wide grin grows across his face. “Excellent,” he says, pulling the door open to let her back into the party. “After you, my lady.”

He lets her order her own drink when they reach the bar, which she appreciates; she has had plenty of experiences with men trying to do stupid things for her that she could very easily have done better by herself. They sit next to one another at the bar while waiting for their orders to be filled. Emma is genuinely surprised that she doesn’t mind his company. He’s not trying to fill the silence with small talk every single moment, something which seems rare to her these days. When the bartender brings over their drinks, she doesn’t get up, just thanks the woman serving her drink and turning towards Killian.

“How long have you lived in the States?” she asks, trying not to smile at the apparent shock on his face that she initiated conversation.

“A little over three years. I moved around the UK quite a bit before that. Got a job offer here in the city and decided I’d seen enough of England and Ireland. So I moved here.”

“That seems like a big decision,” she comments.

He simply shrugs. “I had no reason to stay.”

Emma swallows and nods. “I know what that’s like. I moved around a lot, too.” She’s always been a bit of a loner; didn’t have any family until about five years ago when her biological brother tracked her down.

“How long have you been in New York?” he asks, nonverbally agreeing not to pry into the reason for one another’s nomadic existence.

“Just a month, actually. I was in Boston before that.”

“Do you like it here?” he asks, his eyes boring into hers.

She shrugs. “I like it just fine.”

He tilts his head and raises one eyebrow, making it clear he doesn’t buy it.

She breathes a laugh. “Alright, it’s a little too crowded and a little too noisy. And people are just always in a hurry to get everywhere.”

“Is that all?” he urges her to continue, an amused smile on his face.

Emma bites the inside of her lip, considering for a moment. “It also smells kind of terrible.”

He laughs a full, bright thing that makes her smile. “That’s just in the summer. No worries, love. Once it cools off a bit, the odors of the city get quite more bearable.”

“Good to know,” she answers, no longer hiding her smile. She doesn’t try to object when Killian flags down the bartender and asks for a refill of her now empty martini.

They continue to talk for about an hour, regaling tales of the cities they’ve both lived in. His eyebrows shoot up when she mentions working as a bail bondsperson. When she asks him about it, he simply replies “Forgive me if this is overstepping, love, but that’s kind of hot.”

If she hadn’t drunk as much as she has, Emma would be significantly more embarrassed by the giggles that keep escaping her at his well-timed comments. But considering the pleasant buzz that is warming through her veins, she can’t bring herself to care. It feels nice not to force a smile like she has the rest of the evening.  Now that she’s not scowling at him, Killian’s flirty side begins to make a reappearance, which encourages her to shoot him playfully disgusted looks. She tries not to be obvious about how her stomach flips at his laughter that follows each of her looks.

She admits to him that she’s almost always lived in bigger cities, but has always wondered what it would be like to get away from the light pollution and noise every once in a while. “My favorite place I lived was Tallahassee. It was about half an hour from the beach, so I drove down there a lot, and the city itself wasn’t very big. I thought about moving somewhere closer to water again recently, but it didn’t work out.”

 He nods, taking a long drink from his tumbler of scotch. “I know what you mean; the water calls to me as well. I grew up on the beach, actually. Although the beaches in Ireland pale in comparison to those of Florida, I’m sure.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, I doubt the swimming is ideal up there.”

“It definitely is not,” he agrees. “But the sailing was.”

“You sailed?”

He nods. “I still do. I have a sailboat at home. Nothing to brag about, just a small little thing, but she’s better than nothing.”

 “That sounds wonderful,” she sighs, “I’ve always wanted to live closer to the ocean.”

 He scratches behind his ear, an action she can only guess is a nervous tick. “Well I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, Emma, but if you’d like to spend time on the water, I’m heading to my house in Long Beach for the weekend. What do you say we get out of the city for a bit?”

Emma chews on her bottom lip. She knows what he is implying and she wants to say yes. She’s single, buzzed but not drunk enough to regret it tomorrow, and she doesn’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend, but part of her feels like she shouldn’t. Killian is acting like he sincerely wants to get to know her. And she doesn’t do _that_. The whole ‘get to know you’ thing. She’s had one too many bad experiences ‘getting to know’ men. But he’s kind of sweet. And gorgeous. And what the hell. She finishes the remainder of her martini in one long drink. “Alright,” she says. His answering grin stretches wide, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle in a way that is downright cute.

Well, _shit_. She is so screwed.

* * *

 

They take a town car out of the city and her stomach is in knots. Emma is no stranger to one night stands, but the nature of this makes her uneasy. It’s not a drunken five minute taxi ride to some guy’s apartment where she can sneak out and hail a cab in the morning.  Even without traffic in the late evening, it takes them just under an hour to get to Killian’s place in Long Beach. She mentally calculates the cab fare back to her apartment and winces.

He must notice, because he gently places his hand on top of hers. “Everything alright, love?” he asks, genuine concern written on his face.

Emma takes a sip out of the champagne flute in her left hand before answering. “Everything’s fine,” she says, smiling reassuringly at him.

“Not having second thoughts?” he implores. Emma is taken aback for a moment by his apparent concern—she _has_ just agreed to spending the night with a man she just met. And a casual hookup has _never_ seemed so unsure about her intentions before (which may be a sign that she’s been hooking up with the wrong guys but hey, she can take care of herself).

The town car turns a corner, and she catches sight of the moonlight reflecting off the waves out her window. A smile slowly spreads across her face and she turns to shake her head at him. His eyes flicker to her smiling lips and that’s all the encouragement she needs; Emma leans forward and presses her mouth against his. The kiss is soft, fairly chaste (since they are still in the presence of a driver). As she pulls away—rosy-cheeked and smiling from the alcohol and him—his thumb traces along the apple of her cheek. The gentle gesture doesn’t seem to match his eyes, however, which are looking at her with something resembling hunger. She smirks knowingly in anticipation. She’s relieved; Emma may not be so comfortable with the soft, thoughtful, ‘get to know you’ kind of thing, but she definitely knows how to handle lust.

After only another minute, they pull in front of the house. Killian hands the driver his credit card, wishes him a good night, and then practically drags Emma out of the backseat and towards the door. She chuckles under her breath at his enthusiasm as he hastily twists his key in the lock, ushers them inside, and shuts the door behind him. He takes a large breath before turning around to face her, dark eyes betraying his composed demeanor. “Could I offer you something to drink?”

Emma smiles to herself at his apparently forced restraint. (Not that she really blames him. She is also really trying hard not to tackle the hot British sailor to the ground and have him right there.) “Sure. Surprise me.”

Killian places a hand on the small of her back and guides her towards an open room with comfortable-looking leather sofas and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the water, urging her to take a look while he prepares their drinks. Emma stares out at the small waves breaking close to the shore. “This place is beautiful. I didn’t know there was anything quite like this near New York.”

He sidles up next to her and hands her a small glass of amber colored liquor with two ice cubes. “Thank you. I did my research. And kept my eyes on foreclosures,” he says conspiratorially.

Emma takes a drink from the glass, savoring the way the rum warms her throat and chest. “Smart. You should make a television show or something.”

“Ah, but where would be the fun in that? It does not do to reveal all a man’s secrets,” his voice lowers to a whisper and Emma can feel his warm breath against her ear. She doesn’t bother to hide the shiver that travels down her spine at the proximity. Instead, she sets her glass down on the end table next to where she’s standing, turns to face him, grasps the lapels of his suit jacket, and pulls his mouth down to hers.

The kiss in the town car did nothing to prepare Emma for this one. Killian responds by pressing his mouth firmly against hers, his hands slinking down to grasp at her waist through the chiffon of her dress. Emma threads her fingers through his hair and pulls just hard enough to make him gasp against her mouth. Taking advantage of the opening, she deepens the kiss, slipping her tongue inside his mouth. His hands grasp at the material of her dress, pulling it up around her thighs so he can pick her up. She cooperates, crossing her ankles behind his back and moving her mouth down his jawline as he navigates them to the couch.

Killian groans at the pressure of Emma landing in his lap as he sits them down. She pulls back momentarily and grins wickedly before shoving his suit jacket off his shoulders. Her hands dart between them to get to work undoing the small buttons lined down the center of his shirt (though it’s barely more than halfway buttoned—the amount of chest he’s exposing is damn near obscene). He hums in approval as he begins pressing open mouthed kisses against her exposed neck and shoulder, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of her dress. As Killian ever so slowly works the zipper down, Emma hastily pulls his now fully unbuttoned shirt down his arms where it pools behind him on top of his jacket. She takes a moment to ogle his toned chest lightly covered with hair.

“Enjoying the view, love?” he asks, doing something lascivious with his tongue. A shiver goes down her spine at his intense gaze, so she’s pretty sure her answering shrug isn’t as believably nonchalant as she’d hoped. He answers by pulling the straps of her dress off her shoulders just a little too slowly, and she helps him speed things up by impatiently tugging the thin straps down her arms herself. His eyes travel over her now exposed torso in appreciation before leaning forward to capture her lips in his once again.

“For the record,” he murmurs low against her lips as his hands slowly trace down her back, “I’m enjoying the view as well.”

Emma stands up, shimmying the rest of the way out of her dress until she’s standing before him in nothing but her strapless bra and thong (thank _God_ she’d worn some decent lingerie tonight instead of some shapewear or something equally embarrassing). She flushes slightly under his lust-filled gaze, but quirks an eyebrow at him, challenging him to even the playing field. Instead of moving to work at his belt, he stands up and kisses her hungrily. “As much as I don’t want to put a stop to this for a moment,” he whispers huskily in her ear, “it may be a good idea to move this upstairs.”

Emma nods in agreement, but doesn’t stop herself from pouting at the interruption. The right side of his lips curve up in a smirk before he leans in to nip at her jutted out lower lip and soothes it with a soft kiss. He grabs her hand and guides her through his house and up the stairs, half-heartedly pointing out different rooms like he is giving her a proper tour instead of counting down the moments until there’s no clothing between them.

She stills as she enters the master suite, taking in the moonlit surroundings. His bedroom is larger than her living room and kitchen combined, complete with a fireplace, a large king sized bed, an oversized chaise, and several windows and a balcony overlooking the ocean. She nearly starts when Killian sweeps her hair over one of her shoulders and slowly kisses the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. She shivers and turns to face him, wasting no time before kissing him hard.

He picks her up, walks the few paces to the bed, and drops her, causing Emma to giggle. His answering smile looks almost adoring—an observation Emma quickly dismisses because she’ll never see this guy again after tonight. When Killian joins her on the bed, his knees on either side of her hips, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down so his lips meet hers.

His mouth moves with hers slowly but purposefully, building a slow burn deep in her stomach. Emma reaches for his belt buckle, intent on getting his pants off as soon as possible. He chuckles against her mouth as if sensing her urgency (which he probably does; she’s not exactly trying to be subtle). Once Emma has unbuckled and unzipped his pants he stands briefly to discard them before resuming his position above her.

Killian’s right hand slides slowly up her waist and lets his thumb trace the curve of her breast as his mouth trails down her neck. She exhales low in appreciation when his teeth begin to pull down the cup of her bra, the scruff of his beard scratching against her skin. Emma finds her back arching to assist him and in one deft move, he unhooks her bra and throws it behind him. In the moonlight, she can see the way his eyes dilate as he hungrily takes her in.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, cupping one breast in his hand and leaning down to latch his mouth to the other. She inhales sharply when his teeth bite down on her nipple, only to be replaced by his tongue soothing circles around it. Her eyes flutter shut and her hands tangle in his hair and not, being able to simply _lie_ there, her hips buck up against him, desperately seeking out some pressure. If Killian notices her body’s apparent desperation for _more_ , he ignores it; keeping his focus above her waist as his mouth leaves a trail of hot kisses to her other peak.

Deciding she’s waited plenty long, Emma pushes him over onto his back and grins wickedly at his surprised expression before pressing her mouth (and hips) down against his. He groans into the kiss as she grinds against him through the thin layers of his boxer briefs and her panties. Killian’s hand wraps around the ends of her hair and tugs, causing Emma’s head to fall back. He takes the opportunity to run his teeth along her neck, nipping at the exposed skin and circling his tongue in the sensitive spot above her pulse point. Thoroughly dizzied, Emma barely notices he is flipping her over until her back lands against the bed and his fingers hook in the sides of her waistband. His lips work their way down her chest in feather light kisses that make goosebumps arise on her skin, but they stop at her bellybutton.

She opens her eyes to find him looking questioningly at her. “Is this alright?” he asks, his voice barely above a husky whisper. She slowly licks her lips, taking in the lust written all over his face and nods. He grins devilishly, slowly pulling the nude-colored lace down her thighs and over her calves, his eyes locked with hers the whole while. When she’s (finally) completely naked before him, he takes a moment to appreciatively glance up and down her body.

“Like what you see?” she murmurs playfully, trying to ease the feeling of being so utterly exposed.

He smiles as his eyes lock with hers. “Absolutely,” he says roughly.

Emma doesn’t get a chance to respond, because suddenly his mouth is _right there_ , pressing hot kisses up her inner thigh as she fists the bedspread below her in anticipation. His hand braces her other thigh, holding it down as his teeth take the skin of her hip between them.

“Killian,” she whines as he kisses her everywhere except where she’s aching for him. Apparently needing no more encouragement, his thumb drags against her center, sliding up to her clit.

He hums in appreciation. “It seems your body is positively _ready_ for me, Emma. So sorry to keep you waiting.”

His mouth reclaims the spot his thumb just vacated, tongue darting out to glide against her. One of his arms moves to pin her hips down to the bed as they press up against him of their own accord. Emma gasps his other arm slinks down to join his mouth and pushes two fingers into her. He works them slowly in and out of her, curling them _just so_ , hitting the spot that makes her toes curl as his tongue circles roughly around her clit and his beard scratches roughly against the inside of her thighs. His pace quickens as her legs begin to twitch and her muscles clench.

Emma cries out some noise that is a combination of a moan and his name as she climaxes, her back arching up from the bedding beneath her. He rides out her waves of pleasure, slowing the movement of his fingers as she comes down from her high. Emma sighs and sinks into the mattress, embarrassingly spent before he’s even had the time to take off his underwear.

Killian chuckles darkly as he presses a kiss against her inner thigh and climbs up to join her near the head of the bed. “I’ll let you rest for a minute, but I’m nowhere near done with you, love.”

She hums in satisfaction as his hand skims against her hips, up her sides, and to her breasts almost absentmindedly. As her breathing slows a bit, Emma opens her eyes to find him looking at her in unmasked lust. She wraps her hand around the back of his neck and pulls his mouth to hers once more.

Emma pushes him over, straddling his cotton-clad hips and grinding against his hardening arousal as her mouth moves hungrily with his. One of Killian’s hands holds her head to his before grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling back. Emma gasps as he nips and sucks at her neck, no doubt leaving a mark.

Unwilling to wait any longer, she slips her hand beneath his waistband and palms his silky length, feeling it twitch against her. “Emma,” he groans, encouraging her to continue. She pulls back, quickly ridding him of the last of his clothing before working up and down his shaft with one hand. Seeing a bead of liquid gathering at the tip, she leans down and swirls her tongue over the head. She glances up and smiles at the utterly wrecked expression on his face before sucking him into her mouth.

Her head bobs up and down slowly for a bit, not wanting to bring him to his own climax too quickly. His hand grabs her shoulder and pulls her up towards him. “As much as I really don’t want you to stop,” he says, peppering hot kisses across her collarbone as his hands reach around to grab her ass. “I’d much rather finish inside of you, love.”

She shivers as his breath ghosts across her skin and pulls back to look at him questioningly. “Condom?”

He nods to the table beside his bed. “Top drawer.”

Emma tears open one of the foil packets before quickly and carefully rolling the condom over his length. She looks at him in mock frustration as he flips her onto her back and effectively pins her down. Her annoyance dissolves easily as Killian’s hips press forward and his length rubs against where she’s aching for him once more.

“Please,” she whispers, head pressed back into the pillows.

“As you wish.” He slides into her slowly, causing them both to moan, before setting a slow, shallow rhythm.

“Killian,” she says in a serious tone. “You really, _really_ , do not need to hold back right now. Please, just _move_.”

A devilish smirk spreads across his face as he dives down to devour her mouth hungrily, the movement pushing him into her farther. Emma groans against his mouth in appreciation as he slides roughly in and out of her. She hooks her ankles behind his back, using the leverage to tip her hips so each thrust hits her just right. She feels Killian’s groan echo across her ribs and Emma sinks her teeth in his shoulder to prevent herself from crying out (she’s never been comfortable being particularly loud in bed).

Changing pace, she flips them over before sinking down on him, smirking at his look of surprise. Emma closes her eyes as she rises and falls on top of him, surrendering to the feeling of him inside her. Killian moans beneath her and his hands come up to grip tightly at her waist. His hands are holding her so firmly he’ll likely leave bruises tomorrow, but she’s way beyond the point of caring. He guides her movements, quickening the pace and rolling his hips up against her in a way that connects with _that_ spot deep inside her. “ _Fuck_ ,” she hisses at the change in angle. Emma notices he seems to be spurred on by her verbal appreciation, hands and hips moving more determinedly.

She can feel herself climbing again, their pace in time with her ragged breaths. Killian lets go of her hips momentarily to sit up, immediately tugging her head back by her hair and latching his mouth on to her neck. Their movements become erratic and she can feel him tensing beneath her. Emma drags her nails down his back and smiles darkly at his answering low groan which mixes with her own. Killian’s hand that is not tangled in the hair at the base of her neck skims across her overly sensitive skin. He grips her breast, running his thumb across it, before his hand lowers to the place where her body meets his.

“I’m close,” she whispers between gritted teeth as his thumb circles at her clit.

He pulls back momentarily and Emma sees the dark gleam in his eye. “Good,” he answers simply, voice thick with lust and exertion. He pulls her head to his, slipping his tongue in her mouth in the middle of a moan. (How he can kiss like _that_ when their hips are still slamming together frantically is beyond her, frankly) Emma moans loudly as she climaxes again, her eyes fluttering closed as she rides out the waves of pleasure. When she stills, Killian flips them over, pulling her leg over his shoulder as he thrusts into her a few more times before groaning through his own release. He deftly rolls them onto his back so he’s not suffocating her. Emma hums, fully sated, her ear pressed to the middle of his sweat-slicked chest as their breathing evens out.

After a couple of minutes, Emma rolls over and wraps herself in Killian’s bedding sighing into the fluffy warmth of his down comforter as he excuses himself to clean up. When he returns, he slides in next to her and chuckles at her burrito-like state. “Tired, are we?” he asks, his tone light with amusement, as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

Emma moves to sit up, suddenly remembering where she is. “Sorry, I’ll go now,” she mumbles, slipping out of the bed clad only in the throw blanket that laid at the end of his bed and looking around for her clothes.

Killian’s hand wraps around her wrist and he gently tugs her back towards him. “I wasn’t insinuating that you should go. Stay? Please?” His voice is soft and his eyes are hopeful and it makes her heart lurch and _she should not be feeling this after knowing him for a few hours, God._

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, running his tongue against his lips and she’s done for. She climbs back into his bed reluctantly and his answering smile is infectious.

“Fine,” she acquiesces, “but only because this bed is _heavenly_."

“With a woman as beautiful as yourself in it? I wholeheartedly agree,” he chuckles, pulling her body to his so their limbs are tangled. “’Night,” he whispers against her ear.

“Good night.” Emma tries not to think about how she’s miraculously _not_ freaking out, even though it’s the first time she has purposefully spent the night at a one night stand’s house ever. She pushes the thought from her mind and promptly falls asleep, exhausted thanks to the gorgeous man who is currently wrapped around her.


	2. drive out of the city, away from the crowd

Emma groans as she wakes, rolling over and pressing her face back into her pillow to escape the sunlight that is streaming through her windows. She grumbles under her breath, cursing herself about leaving the blinds open and inhales deeply. Recognizing (or rather, not recognizing) the scent of the pillow beneath her head, she freezes. Opening one bleary eye she takes in the golden sheets beneath her head and the night before comes crashing back into her memory.

_Oh._

Tentatively, she peeks to her right where Killian had been curled around her hours before and finds his pillow empty, the sheets on his side tucked into the bed neatly. _Dork_. She had taken notice of how eerily clean his house was for a bachelor the previous night. Quietly cursing under her breath her lack of attention to where exactly she’d flung her clothes the night before, she scans around the room looking for something— _anything—_ she can wear. They’d torn off the majority of their clothes downstairs, so she can’t even put her dress back on. Grumbling, she gets up from the bed and hastily dons her bra and panties (which had apparently been flung to opposite sides of his room the night before).

She stops and scrutinizes a pair of leggings and a man’s shirt that are laid out carefully on the small sofa sitting in front of the windows. She pulls them on—because she’s _not_ just going to parade around a stranger’s house practically naked—but her heart rate quickens. Why the hell does this single man who lives alone have a pair of leggings in roughly her size just lying around his house? She panics briefly, wondering if she had just slept with a married man, but doesn’t know that she buys that explanation. Her lie detector has been wrong before, but no one was _that_ good of a liar.

Emma carefully follows the soft sounds she can hear Killian making down the stairs and finds him in his kitchen, softly humming with his back to her. He turns around and smiles brightly at her when she steps on a creaky floorboard.

“Good morning,” he greets her warmly. “Do you prefer chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes?”

“Chocolate chip,” she answers automatically before biting at her bottom lip. “Actually, uh, you know what? Don’t worry about the pancakes. I should probably be going now anyway so…”

He frowns at her dismissal. “Well the mix is all made; I just have to stir in the chocolate chips. And there’s bacon. And it’s all definitely too much for just me to eat.”

“I don’t know, Killian,” she sighs hesitantly. “I wasn’t even planning on spending the night last night.”

“I’m glad you did,” he assures her, eyes gleaming with sincerity as he glances up from the stove. “And since you’re here now and it’s a beautiful morning, I thought we could eat on the back terrace and I could take you out on sailing?”

She practically slams her head against the counter. No man should legally be allowed to be that hot, that good in bed, and also make the most devastating puppy dog eyes. “Okay, fine,” she answers quickly, smiling meekly at the way his face completely lights up.

“Wonderful.” He steps away from the stove momentarily to close the distance between them and leans forward to softly kiss her. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asks quietly.

Her cheeks blush slightly as she looks at him pointedly. “Are you seriously asking that question?”

“Just making sure.” He smirks at her and Emma relaxes; she’s much more comfortable around him when he’s flirty and teasing than whatever that softness is. “As it were, I also enjoyed myself. Quite a lot.” His face is mere inches from hers and the dark tone of his voice coupled with the filth in his eyes makes the breath catch in her chest.

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth to wet it before glancing down at his mouth. “Your pancakes are going to burn,” she says simply.

He glances quickly over his shoulder, having clearly forgotten what he was doing and curses under his breath, quickly flipping the now dark brown cake on the griddle. She silently chuckles at his easy distraction as she sits on a stool at his breakfast bar, watching him tend to their breakfast. He narrows his eyes at her playfully when he catches the amused expression on her face and she responds by scrunching up her nose at him.

* * *

The view from the terrace is breathtaking. The late morning sun is reflecting off the gentle waves of the ocean beyond Killian’s yard as barges make their way across the distant horizon. Emma is amazed at how quiet it is out here away from the city. She can hear distant sounds of children playing in the neighborhood, the hum of a lawnmower, and the crash of the waves, but it seems like near silence compared to the sounds outside her place in Brooklyn.

Killian sets a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and a dish of fresh fruit in front of her before taking his place at the chair across the small patio table. “Everything alright?”

Emma turns to look at him, realizing she had been zoning out, her eyes focused on the water. “Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired. I didn’t fall asleep until late last night. But I guess you knew that.”

His face is filled with mischief as he runs his tongue between his teeth. “I would apologize for keeping you otherwise occupied, but I fear it would be disingenuous.”

She rolls her eyes and hides her answering smirk with a forkful of pancake. “I never said I wanted you to apologize.”

“Wonderful. Because I fear I may be inclined to keep you otherwise occupied again.” His eyebrow shoots towards his hairline in a way that reminds Emma of a cartoon (because seriously—what actual human being looks like that?).

“Is there any particular reason you talk like you’re taking a vocabulary test?” she asks, shooting him an unimpressed look.

He looks affronted. “Well, Emma, I’m sorry if my mastery of the English language has you feeling inept. Perhaps I should tone it down a trifle as to make you more comfortable?”

She barks out a laugh, covering her mouth so she doesn’t spit bacon all over him. “You’re insufferable.”

He smiles proudly at her comment.

  

After helping Emma into the boat, Killian flies about, putting up the sails, adjusting ropes and doing about a million different things at once.

“Should I be doing something? I feel like I should be doing something,” she says, feeling awkward just sitting there as he sets everything up.

“Nonsense!” he calls out from behind a sail. “I’m a solo sailor. This is what I do.” He peeks out from behind the sail, his hair windblown in his face. “Just sit back and relax. We’ll be casting off soon.”

She hesitantly does as he suggests, silently admiring the way his arms flex as he finishes adjusting the sails and ropes for their departure. After a couple minutes, he meets her gaze with a boyish smile. “Ready?”

She nods in response and he unties the boat and pushes them away from the dock.

Emma can’t contain the smile on her face as Killian maneuvers the sailboat out into the open water. The warm sun of late summer coupled with the sea breeze in her hair and the rocking of the boat is just enough to help her let go of all the tension and anxiety she has built up from work during the past couple of months.

Killian sidles up next to her and takes a seat after securing the wheel to take them straight forward. “What do you think?” he asks tentatively, wrapping an arm around her.

Emma turns her head to answer him, but a gust of wind blows all of her hair between their faces so she can see nothing but blonde tangles. She giggles and pulls her hair over her other shoulder before answering him. “I love it.”

“Good,” he says, smiling wider. Emma’s eyes flick down to his lips involuntarily and he notices the movement, leaning forward to meet her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulls away to return to tending the boat’s wheel.

They drop anchor once they’re far enough away from the shore that Emma can only just make out the line of it against the waves. Once anchored, Killian gives her the short tour of the _Jolly Roger_ (apparently the man likes to think he is some sort of pirate), showing her the small cabin below deck complete with a twin-sized daybed which doubles as a sofa, a miniscule kitchenette and a bathroom which is more or less a closet containing a toilet. His childlike enthusiasm and pride concerning all matters of the boat is contagious and Emma can’t help but realize this is the most fun she’s had one-on-one with a man in her entire life.

The sun is high in the sky when they return above deck and, despite the strong breeze, the temperature is climbing steadily to the point where she’s not quite comfortable in her clothes. “I kind of wish I had a swimsuit with me right about now,” Emma remarks, sitting herself on the stretching out and soaking in the sun.

“If you’d like, you can always just strip down to your undergarments,” Killian says offhandedly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“On the contrary, love. I think I proved last night just how well I can handle it,” he teases over his shoulder, enunciating the ‘t’ at the end of his statement.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma peels off the t-shirt she’s wearing before sliding the leggings down her legs and tosses the clothing so it hits Killian in the back where he’s standing at the helm. She tries not to smile to herself when she sees him turn around from the corner of her eye and gawk at her lounging in the sun.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she starts after a few minutes, not bothering to look up, “why does a single guy have a pair of women’s leggings lying around his house?”

He chuckles and turns again so he’s facing forward. “They’re my sister-in-law’s. She has a tendency to leave something behind every time she stays with me. Was I correct in assuming you would probably prefer not to wear your gown from the party last night out on the water?”

“You were,” she confirms. “That would have looked a little weird.”

“Are you getting hungry?” Killian calls over his shoulder. “Perhaps we should head back to shore.”

Emma’s stomach growls at his suggestion. “Yeah, food would be nice. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s about,” Killian looks down at his watch, “3 pm.”

“Well, shit,” she murmurs, pulling her t-shirt back on. “We’ve really been out here for four hours?”

He grins at her as he steers them towards the shore. “Time flies and all that.”

* * *

 

            After they return to the house and finish stowing the boat away, Killian finds a bikini that his sister-in-law left behind, insisting it is fine for Emma to borrow. “Whatever she leaves behind is mine,” he says with a smirk.

            “Really? You’re claiming ‘finder’s keeper’s’ right now?” He grins boyishly at her accusation, shrugging and thrusting the swimsuit into her arms. Emma forgets her initial hesitation about borrowing clothes once she is floating in the middle of his pool, though. The cool water contrasting with the warm sun on her skin makes her never want to leave.

As she lays back in the pool lounger, floating along, Killian makes them a lunch of grilled chicken and asparagus. They maintain easy conversation the whole time, sharing stories of their childhoods with one another (though Emma omits any real, personal details). Emma is struck by the nostalgic tone as Killian describes learning how to sail from his father, warm afternoons spent cooking with his mother, and every moment in between playing with his older brother. She remembers the look in his eyes when he had told her the previous night that he hadn’t had any reason to stay in the UK and has to force herself not to ask about it. She had assumed he was an orphan like her.

            “Enough about me, I’m really not that interesting,” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “I would like to know more about you, Emma.”

            Her internal alarm goes off; Emma is not one to share her seemingly tragic past with just anyone. Yes she grew up in various foster homes, never really finding where exactly she belonged until her half-brother tracked her down through the adoption agency when she turned 18. But she quickly learned not to share that part of her life once she recognized the pity in people’s faces.

“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” she says, shrugging. “I grew up kind of all over. Graduated high school in Boston and stayed around there working as a bail bondsperson for a couple years. Then I moved to New York a few months ago.”

He looks at her pointedly. “There’s always more to the story than that,” he says, taking the food off the grill (finally—she’s been starving for what seems like _hours_ ). “But I won’t pry. For now anyway. Would you like to come inside to eat?”

Emma nods, smiling graciously as he tosses her a large fluffy towel that’s warm from lying in the sun. She wraps it around herself and follows him into the kitchen.

“White wine alright to drink?” he asks, opening up a stainless steel fridge and pulling out a bottle.

“You’re not trying to get me drunk again, are you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

He frowns at her. “I was most certainly _not_ trying to get you drunk last night. And you did not even have that much to drink. However, if you would like to abstain from drinking anything stronger than water for the evening, I understand.”

She rolls his eyes at his defense. “I was just joking, Killian. You do know what a joke is, don’t you?”

 He places her dinner plate down in front of her, joining it with a glass of wine and a glass of water. “Just because I know what a joke is, doesn’t mean I find the insinuation that I needed to incapacitate you in order to bring you home with me funny, love,” he murmurs low in her ear. Emma suppresses a shiver at the warning in his tone, trying not to make it too obvious that he can seduce her just fine completely sober.

“I’m sorry for the insinuation,” she says lamely, taking a sip of wine. “I don’t regret last night.”

“Good, neither do I,” he says, serious mood disappearing once again (the pace with which he switches from sincere to playful gives her whiplash). “Let’s eat.” He raises his glass towards hers in a toast, nodding towards her with a smile.

She hums appreciatively as she takes a bite of the chicken he grilled for them and compliments him on his cooking.

“I’m glad you like it. But I can only cook about ten different dishes. Aside from that, I’m almost completely useless in the kitchen.” He winks conspiratorially.

“Well, I mean, poptarts and frozen pizza are about as far as my culinary expertise extends, so this is incredibly impressive by my standards.”

“How on earth do you not get tired of that diet and starve to death?”

Emma shrugs. “There’s a lot of different kinds of pizza out there. Also, I live in New York. It’s not like there’s any sort of shortage of places to get take out from.”

“Yes, I imagine working in your field you’re often on the go. Chasing down the notorious criminals of New York, and such,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a bit of asparagus.

“Typically the ‘notorious criminals’ aren’t out on bail, but that’s more or less correct.” Emma doesn’t bother informing him that she no longer works in bail bonds—she doesn’t really want to get in to all the details of her career and personal life. It’s not like she knows this guy, or intends to see him ever again after this weekend. “Do you work in the city or nearby?”

 “I work in Manhattan.”

“That seems a bit far to commute every day,” she observes.

Killian simply shrugs and takes a drink from his glass of wine. “I suppose so, though I tend to go into the office early enough that traffic isn’t too terrible. I’m fortunate enough to have a parking space, so I don’t have to deal with public transportation.”

“That’s good. It probably takes twice as long to get into the city if you took the train.”

“It does, but at least on the train you can work or read or do something other than just drive.”

Emma shrugs. “I’m very bored of public transportation at this point. I used to drive a lot, but parking in the city is a nightmare, so I have my car stored at my brother’s house in New Jersey. Just driving seems preferable to stopping every twenty seconds.” She finishes her dinner and downs the rest of her wine. The chill of her drink causes Emma to remember her state of dress and she looks down and blushes. “Is there any chance I could take a shower before I head out? My hair turns green if I leave chlorine in it,” she asks timidly.

Killian jumps up quickly. “Yes, of course. Apologies, lass. I’m not quite sure where my manners are. I’ll show you to it.” He inclines his head, gesturing for Emma to follow him. She gets up from her chair and clutches the towel to herself a bit more tightly as she follows him up the stairs, through his bedroom, and into the connected master bath. “Alright, here is shower,” he says quickly, gesturing to the large glass encasement, “and the bath is right there, if you’d prefer that.” Emma is slightly amused at his seemingly nervous hustling about. His suave, relaxed demeanor from the night before is completely gone. It’s almost endearing.

“Here’s a fresh one for you,” he thrusts a large, fluffy brown towel into her hands. “The rest is fairly self-explanatory. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Emma chuckles to herself as he leaves with an awkward smile, shutting the door. For someone who has already proven otherwise, he’s acting like a bumbling, virginal, teenage mess.

She peels off her bikini and turns on the water, sighing as she steps under the warm spray. God, she’s missed this. The water pressure in her place in Brooklyn is barely adequate. Here it’s so strong it almost hurts her slightly sunburned skin.

She takes her time scrubbing her skin and loosening all the knots out of her tangled hair. _Amazing sex followed by sailing and swimming will do that_ , she supposes. She dries off with the new towel Killian left for her and opens the door leading into his room. She smiles when she sees Killian has laid out her clothes from earlier on an armchair by the door, though with a new, unworn t-shirt of his. She sets down the towel before starting to pull on the clothes.

 “Emma?” he calls, entering the room. “Would you like—oh,” his eyes scan her automatically and he flushes. “Sorry,” he murmurs, looking away. “I was just going to ask if you’d like some coffee. I didn’t mean to barge in on you.”

She pulls the worn shirt down over her head before walking towards him slowly. “It’s alright,” she says slowly, drawing his attention back to her. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

He smirks and runs a hand down the length of her arm absentmindedly. “Indeed I have, though I didn’t presume that gave me permission to do so freely.” He looks up at her and shrugs. “Trying to be a gentleman here, love.”

She smiles, but it’s a small thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes (which are no doubt darkening like his). “Don’t,” she whispers.

His hand grasps the back of her neck and pulls her to him, groaning when their lips meet. Emma lets her hand slip under his shirt, skimming across the muscles on his back. His tongue swipes across her lips and she opens her mouth to him, deepening the kiss. As they kiss feverishly, he directs her arms to wrap around his neck and slides his hands down to her hips, caressing the smooth skin of her bare thighs. He hitches her legs around his hips before carrying her across the room and setting her down on the bed as he had done the night before. She takes the opportunity to yank his shirt over his head, grinning proudly as it drops to the ground. Killian doesn’t protest when she moves to pull down his shorts, leaving him just clad in his boxers. He nearly tackles her as he hops on the bed with her, rolling them gracefully so she’s on top of him.

“Smooth moves, Captain,” she hums. He looks down at her in surprise and admiration and Emma smiles widely in return.

“Just you wait,” he promises, diving in and stealing her breath.

They make quick work of the rest of their clothes and Killian groans as Emma wraps her hand around his growing hardness. He reaches over, fumbling in his bedside drawer before retrieving a condom which Emma promptly snatches from his hands. She takes her time rolling it over his length, smirking as he audibly appreciates her actions. One of his hands snakes down the side of her, squeezing her ass, as the other slips between her thighs. She sees his eyes burn as he feels she is just as ready for this as he is.

She stops him before he has a chance to comment on it (and she _knows_ he will). “Are you just gonna lay there, or are you gonna do something about that?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow at him.

Killian grins wickedly before flipping them over and pushing into her. Emma exhales in a combination of a sigh of relief and a laugh at his enthusiasm as he does. He pulls her legs around his waist and she crosses her ankles behind his back so her heels are pressed against the base of his spine. Killian leans forward, swallowing her moan as he picks up the pace—this time thankfully without needing her verbal encouragement.

His hands grasp at her hips, wrenching them up so he’s hitting her deeper and Emma moans loudly, too blissful to be embarrassed. “ _Yes_ , right there,” she whispers, arching her back into him.

“You feel so good,” he groans into the skin between her neck and shoulder, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips. His mouth moves across her chest, laving her breasts and making her climb higher. Sensing her approaching climax, one of his hands leaves her hips and presses against her, circling roughly just above where they are joined as she cries out.

She finishes loudly, hands clenched in his hair and pulling as he slows his movements to ride out her climax. After coming down, Emma takes a deep breath and pushes him over to finish him off. His eyes blaze appreciatively as she begins to rise and fall on top of him steadily, his hips meeting hers each time.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” he groans, sliding his hands up to her hips to assist in her movements. It doesn’t take much longer until he’s hissing that he’s close and following her over the brink, clutching her to his chest after she pulls him through his own release. “You’re bloody amazing, you know that, right?” he murmurs incredulously.

Emma can’t quite recognize the sultry giggle (if there even is such a thing) she responds with. “You certainly seem to know what you’re doing as well.”

She moves to roll off of him but Killian closes his arms around her waist. “Where are you going?” he mumbles against her shoulder, lips and tongue tracing the line of her collarbone lazily.

“I should go. It’s getting late.”

He pulls back to study her face. “If that’s what you want, I’ll give you a ride back to the city. But Emma, please don’t leave out of some sense of obligation. I’d quite like you to stay.”

The boyish smile he wears makes her heart melt. “I don’t know, Killian. I’ve already been here for almost twenty four hours. Besides, this was supposed to be a one night stand.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he whispers conspiratorially, punctuating the sentiment with a wink. “Besides, I think it still counts as one night if you haven’t yet left.”

“Oh really?” she laughs. “According to who?”

“According to me. Stay,” he pleads once more. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She scrunches up her face in disbelief. “No way are you ready to go round two already.”

“Technically, round three. And no. Not quite yet. Give me half an hour or so,” he shrugs.

She sighs dramatically. “Okay, fine, I’ll stay. But whatever will we do in the meantime?”

“Well unlike you, love, I’ve yet to bathe today, so I think I’ll go shower quickly. You can watch whatever you’d like,” he says, nodding towards the television mounted above the fireplace on the opposite wall. He hands her the remote, presses a soft kiss to her forehead and takes off for the bathroom.

Emma watches some random crime drama on the TV for about ten minutes before getting bored and following him into the bathroom.

It turns out half an hour was definitely an overestimate.

* * *

Emma’s eyes crack open at 5:00 on Sunday morning and she rolls over, stretching out her protesting muscles against the silky sheets of Killian’s bed. Carefully, she slips out from under his arm before putting on the clothes she’d abandoned the night before. She allows herself one last look at his sleeping form before slipping out his room.

After calling for a cab, she wanders around the first floor of his house for a few minutes before finding a pad of legal paper. She’s never left a note before sneaking out of a guy’s place, but this feels different and she knows she would feel guilty about vanishing without a word. Emma would be lying to herself and him if she tried for one minute to claim what she had with Killian was nothing more scratching an itch.

_Killian—_

_Thank you for the amazing weekend. I had a wonderful time._

_Take care,_

_Emma_

She folds the note and sticks it in the middle of his kitchen counter before making her way to the front door and finding a cab waiting at the curb in front of his house. She takes a breath and heads outside, back to her real life.

 


	3. I thought heaven can't help me now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything OUAT or Taylor Swift-related. Nor do I know anything about how music is made, so I apologize for any mistakes.  
> Also, "Wildest Dreams" is recommended listening because a) it is referenced in this chapter and b) it is (in my opinion) the best song by Taylor Swift. But if you're not a big TSwift fan or too lazy to look it up, no worries, everything will still make sense.

On Monday morning, Emma sits in front of her piano that takes up more than its fair share of the living room, her hot cup of coffee sitting on top of the polished wood. She woke up with the need to make music, which isn’t that rare for her. She plunked down on her piano bench planning to practice something from _Dreams_. She signed on to have twelve songs on her debut album, and she already recorded and sent all the songs to the label. But she can’t shake the feeling that there is something missing. When she expressed her concern to her brother and his wife, they assured her she was imagining things. Her sister-in-law was so enthusiastic about how amazing the songs are and how talented Emma is when she showed the songs to Mary Margaret. It was nice, and Emma knows the woman meant every word she said, but her enthusiasm did nothing to assuage Emma’s feelings about the album. And they are driving her crazy.

She sighs heavily in frustration and tilts her head side to side, stretching out her neck. She slept really well this weekend (which may have had something to do with the who enthusiastically kept her up until the early hours of the morning Friday _and_ Saturday night—not that she minded in the least), but coming home to her own bed after two nights away was surprisingly unsatisfying. After a long time spent living in shabby apartments with tiny beds, she finally has a comfortable space to call her own. Though her mattress is apparently not the most comfortable one in existence by far—something she learned a couple of days ago.

Emma shakes the thought of Killian Jones from her mind and goes back to scowling at the blank piece of sheet music on the music stand in front of her. She taps an anxious rhythm on the keys, then stops to ponder it for a moment. She can feel the familiar turning of _something_ in her head that indicates she is on the verge of a song. She closes her eyes and lets a deep breath in and out—yoga breathing always helps her focus. She licks her lips and pulls the pencil out from behind her ear. She flips over the sheet of paper and begins scrawling out lyrics.

An hour later she has a decent outline of the first verse, hook, and chorus. She starts plunking at the keys, humming to herself, and playing different scales, trying to figure out what she wants for the melody of the song. By the time she settles on something, plans it out with the lyrics, and picks up her phone to call Kristoff. He has been in the business of music probably since he was born—his father was one of the biggest producers in the industry. Emma feels lucky to have a friend who has so many connections in the industry. It was Kristoff who had encouraged her to pursue her music seriously in the first place. He called up a friend at a record label and played him Emma’s demo, urging Archie to get her signed. Since then, she has moved to New York, found a manager, and signed on for her first _real_ album. Everything is moving so fast it’s kind of scary. Emma feels like she hasn’t had a chance to catch her breath in months. She has a meeting at the end of the week with Regina to go over the (hopefully by then) finished product and find a marketing and publicity team to help get the word out about the album. And from there, she’s only going to get busier. It’s overwhelming to say the least, but she’s also really excited.

Emma buzzes Kristoff up when he arrives at her building in Brooklyn, greeting him with a hug. “Alright, enough niceties. I wanna see what you’ve got,” he says, ushering her over to the piano.

She scrunches her face at him. “Okay, but fair warning. I’m not 100% sure about the chord structure here,” she says, pointing towards the hook.  “Also, the melody needs a bit of tweaking.”

He waves her off. “Right, right. That’s why I’m here. I know it’s not a finished product yet. But come on! Play it for me.”

Emma rolls her eyes but turns towards the keys, starting the soft slowness of the intro verse. She sings along through the first chorus. “Aaand, you get the idea. So, what do you think?” she asks, looking at him nervously and chewing on her lip.

His eyebrows are raised as he nods in approval. “Who’s the guy?” he asks with a smirk.

Emma punches him in the arm. “Shut up. There’s not a guy. What do you think of the _song_?”

“I like the song. I could definitely see some kind of orchestral lead in with some understated percussion,” he starts scribbling on a piece of paper he’s pulled from a stack beside him. Without looking up he adds, “But none of this changes the fact you’ve obviously met someone.”

She glares pointedly at him, standing up to get a drink of water. “What makes you so sure?”

Kristoff looks up and gives her a knowing look. “Please, Em. I know you. This isn’t an angry breakup song, so I know it’s not about Neal.” Emma throws a pillow from her couch at him as she passes by. “There’s a trace of hope to it, so it’s obviously not about Graham.” He actually looks apologetic at the mention of her late love. “So that means one thing: you have met a new guy. And you’re clearly very into him.”

“Kris, you _do_ know me. Well enough to know that I don’t date.”

“I’m not saying you do. All I’m saying is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome has clearly got you feeling a little bit of something,” he says with a smirk. “So tell me, what’s the story? One night stand you couldn’t throw out before falling asleep?”

Emma swallows as she stands up from the piano bench, her stomach dropping at how close he’s got it. “Can you just drop it?” she asks, wincing.

Kristoff nods. “For now. You’re going to give me details someday. But let’s get into the studio to continue,” he glances at the title scrawled at the top of the sheet music in front of her, “ _Wildest Dreams_? Emma, you got it bad.” She shakes her head at him before scooping up her notes and music and grabbing her messenger bag.

She calls ahead as they walk toward the studio to make sure there’s open studio space. Ruby happily assures Emma they always have room for her. “I thought you were finished with the album?” she asks. “Are you rerecording something?”

“No,” Emma answers quickly. “Yes. I don’t know. I just started writing this morning. And the whole thing just doesn’t feel quite complete to me. So Kristoff and I are gonna start recording this idea I have. I’m not sure if it’s much of anything at this point. But we’ll see.”

“Well, I’m excited to hear it. I’m sure it’s wonderful. See you in a bit!” Ruby chirps, hanging up the phone.

Ruby greets them warmly when they get there and shows them to the studio they’ll be working in. Emma smiles and thanks her, then the two of them get to hashing out the lyrics and the music. They spend the day planning out the rest of the lyrics, writing the melody, altering lyrics, adding harmonies, and creating the score.

“Okay, but instead of straight drum hits, I kind of want the background beat to sound like a heartbeat,” Emma says as they’re writing out the score.

Kristoff sits tapping his pencil on the table, considering her thought. “We could record your heartbeat and use that?”

Her eyes light up. “Oh God, that would be awesome. Let’s do it!”

By midnight, they finally have a demo of the song recorded. They just need to get a string quartet to come in and finish it off, then tweak the balances and make small changes and the track will be complete. By the time they make it out of the studio, Emma is so beat she just wants to go home and sleep for a week.

“All done?” Ruby asks them as they emerge from the sound-proofed room. Emma nods tiredly in response. “Excellent! Let’s go celebrate with dinner at Granny’s!” her friend exclaims. Emma and Kristoff simultaneously groan in response.

“Rubes, I’m _exhausted_. I need to go home and go to sleep immediately,” Emma says.

Kristoff nods his agreement. “Besides, we already ate dinner.”

Ruby glares at the two of them as she locks up the studio. “Uh, yeah. You got Chinese delivered five hours ago. Come on, you guys have got to be starving by now. Grilled cheese and hot cocoa?” she throws a pleading look at Emma. “My treat?”

Knowing Ruby is just about the most stubborn person on the planet (after herself, of course), Emma sighs in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not staying long.”

“I already called a cab and it’s here, so I’m gonna have to pass tonight,” Kristoff says, nodding to the yellow Toyota Camry sitting at the curb.

“Fine,” Ruby huffs and pouts. “More fries for us, then.” She links her arm through Emma’s and starts pulling her in the direction of her grandmother’s diner.

“Tell Anna I say hi!” Emma calls out behind her with a chuckle. Kristoff waves her off before climbing into the backseat of the taxi.

When she and Ruby walk through the door into Granny’s Diner, Emma smiles at the familiarity of the scenery. On her first full day in the city she stopped by to tour the recording studio, where she met Ruby. The woman instantly caught on that she was new in town and insisted on showing Emma around New York. Ruby whisked her around the entire city, showing her the cliché sights (“This is just a formality,” Ruby had said at the Statue of Liberty. “As a New Yorker, you have to have been here once. But you can’t go all the way up anymore, anyway, so really there’s nothing to see here.”) and the more elusive “ _real_ ” New York. Emma saw jazz clubs where local bands plays at night, got her first experience in the subway network, noted the sides of town to avoid when possible, and ate at what Ruby claimed was the best food stand in all of Manhattan. As much as she’d been dreading spending the entire day with someone so peppy and, frankly, seemingly unlike herself, Emma was surprised to find she got along better with Ruby than she did most people. So, at the end of the third day (because one day was not enough time to cram in all the ‘must-sees’), Emma agreed to head with Ruby to her grandmother’s diner which was right around the corner from the studio where Emma would be recording her debut album. The atmosphere of the diner was so homey. It smelled like grease, and the booths were squishy, and she fell in love with the place instantly. Since then, Granny’s has been Emma’s go-to eating establishment.

“Hey, ladies!” Ruby’s cousin August greets them when they walk in. “The usual?”

Ruby flashes him a bright smile. “Yep! And make it fast, ‘cause Emma here doesn’t want to stay long.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You know not to take that personally, right? I was in the studio for over twelve hours. I have a right to be tired every once in a while.”

“Not trying to say you aren’t allowed to be tired,” August says while placing a hot cocoa with cinnamon in front of her, “but you definitely don’t seem to be having much fun lately. You should come out with us this weekend!”

“I’ve just been really stressed about the album. I’m not actively _trying_ to avoid people.”

“Now you’re done recording. Now we can have fun for real,” Ruby flashes her a mischievous smile. “Seriously, when was the last time you got drunk and danced inappropriately with some guys you’ll never see again?”

Emma smiles to herself. “It’s probably been too long.” (Not a lie because _technically_ she wasn’t drunk when she’d taken off from Regina’s engagement party with Killian and they didn’t actually dance)

“Okay, it’s settled. Saturday night. We’re taking you out to the clubs,” Ruby says with a sense of finality.

Emma breathes a chuckle and nods her consent reluctantly, causing Ruby to break into a chorus of cheers.

“You won’t regret this, I promise, Emma,” the brunette says as she hugs her a little too tightly to be considered comfortable.

 

Over an hour later when she finally gets home ( _Not staying long, her ass_ ), she's surprised to find her roommate eating Chinese takeout at their breakfast bar, dressed in sweats with her long blonde hair pulled up into a high messy bun. Emma greets her with a weak smile.

"Hi Emma," Elsa smiles at her with a mouthful of noodles. "I heard you and Kristoff were in the studio all day. Did you just get done?"

Emma peels off her boots sighing in relief as her feet are finally freed after a long day of containment before answering. "No, we got done over an hour ago. But Ruby dragged me out for a second dinner to celebrate."

Elsa smiles knowingly, having heard plenty of her roommate's rants about Ruby never taking 'no' for an answer.

"I'm kind of surprised you beat me home," Emma remarks as she pulls a bottle of beer out of the fridge and plops down next to her roommate.

"Mondays are my day off. My  _only_  day off. Remember?" Elsa moved to the city a month before Emma did to start work rehearsing for a Broadway show she'd been cast in, which meant she was gone almost all the time.

Emma winces and smiles at her sheepishly. "Yeah, I do know that, sorry. You were gone before I got out of the shower this morning so I guess I just didn't realize it was your day off."

"I went with Anna to help her try on wedding gowns this morning," Elsa informs her

Emma chuckles lightly. "Still can't believe Kristoff is settling down. He behaved like some sort of odd mix between a toddler and a frat boy. It's so weird to picture him as someone's  _husband_."

"Well, he still kind of  _is_  a toddler-frat boy. But I'm not so sure about settling down; Anna was telling me about their plans to go mountain climbing in Switzerland for their honeymoon. It's weird, but they are perfect for each other."

"Sounds like it," Emma says, her jaw cracking with a yawn.

"Well, I'm gonna go to bed now," Elsa says with a chuckle, tossing her empty take out container in the trashcan. "Sounds like you should do that too."

Emma shrugs and rubs her eyes—a sure sign that she's completely exhausted. "Yeah, probably. 'Night."

"Good night!"

Emma quickly washes her face and brushes her teeth before changing into an oversized t-shirt and collapsing into bed, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

“Miss Swan, come in,” Regina greets her as Emma knocks on her office door Friday morning.

“Hi Ms. Mills. How are you doing this week?”

Regina glances up at her from behind her computer. “I’m well. Still recovering from the party last weekend. Thank you for attending, by the way. I hope you had a chance to make some connections.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. And yeah, I did get a chance to talk to a lot of different people. You and Robin make a wonderful couple. Are you excited for the wedding?”

A genuine smile breaks out across her manager’s face at the mention of her fiancé. “Thank you, Ms. Swan. And yes, of course I am. But enough about me, we made this meeting for a reason, have a seat,” she adds, waiting as Emma sits down across from her. “I received the new track you recorded yesterday morning. Why the extra song? Your album was complete with twelve.”

“I just wasn’t completely sure about it. I feel like the new song kind of ties it all together,” Emma says, having anticipated this question.

Her manager purses her lips. “So what do you purpose? Would you like to add it to the twelve songs? Replace one? Or perhaps have it as a bonus track through a particular retailer? Though, that would require us to find a company to sell your bonus track, and it would probably be good to have more than one.”

“Do you think we could hold off on releasing ‘The New Neverland’? I’m just not sure I like how that fits in with the rest of the album. I wanna replace it with ‘Wildest Dreams’.”

Regina nods, fingers clicking away at her keyboard. “That can be arranged. Although, I don’t think it would be wise to make any changes from here on out. Your first single is set to be released in just two weeks. We’re still in agreement that the first song to be released is ‘Fall’, correct?” Emma simply nods. “Good. From then, we’ll need to have definite answers for your track list. Especially since you’ll start doing publicity for the album almost immediately after the song drops.”

She takes her reading glasses off her face, sets them on the desk in front of her and turns to regard Emma straight on. “I cannot stress this enough, Emma. After ‘Fall’ is released, if all goes well, your life _will_ change for the foreseeable future. You can change your mind about what songs are going to be on your album today, but once you’re in the public eye, your decisions must be final. It will not do to be wishy-washy when the press is scrutinizing your every move. You need to be sure this is the life you want.”

Emma nods, gulping down the bubble of panic that rises in her throat. “I know what I’m getting myself into.” And she does. It’s not a lie. Emma has seen the paparazzi more or less stalk the young starlets who are in the public eye. It’s frightening, no doubt, but she’s an artist. She wants to make music and she wants to share it with people who may be going through something like she was when she wrote her songs. However, she’s a private person. She’s been on her on more or less her whole life, and she’s not excited to do the inevitable damage control when the media grabs ahold of her abandoned orphan sob story.

Emma may know what she’s getting herself into, but that doesn’t mean she has to like the idea of losing virtually all of her precious privacy.

“Then it’s settled,” Regina nods. “Go out and go crazy this weekend. You’re still flying under the radar, so you don’t have to worry about showing up on tabloids in the morning. Better to get it out of your system now than to wait until the cameras are waiting for you.”

“I think I got my partying out of the way after I turned twenty-one,” she says with a wry smile, remembering the fake I.D.s, the clubs, the booze, and the excessive hangovers. “No need to worry about that.”

Regina looks up at her and shrugs slightly. “Nevertheless, enjoy yourself. Your album is done. I know you’re not necessarily looking forward to _all_ of the promotional work, but a lot of that can be fun. Take some time to enjoy yourself, Miss Swan. You’ve earned it.”

Emma grabs her bag off the floor next to her. “Is there anything else you’d like to touch base on before I head out?”

She shakes her head. “No, that is all. I will see you on Monday morning to work with your publicity team. Email me if you need anything before then.”

She nods, though Regina is busy typing away at her computer, no doubt having focused her attention on something entirely different. “Goodbye, Ms. Mills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know what you think about the story so far! Comments/questions on here or my tumblr are much appreciated.


	4. nothing lasts forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter not even 48 hours later! Because 3 and 4 are shorter, and I thought you guys deserve to see what Killian has been up to since he last saw Emma.

Killian’s not really sure what has gotten into him.

Okay, fine, he knows _exactly_ what has gotten into him; he can’t stop thinking about the girl from Rob’s engagement party. Emma. They spent two long, amazing nights together and then she just left. She didn’t leave her number. Or even her bloody last name.

it’s not like this has ever been a problem in the past. Usually, he’s thrilled when a one night stand (or two nights, in this case) understands their time together was simply, as she’d so eloquently called it, a one-time thing. But there is something about Emma that he can’t shake.

And it’s not just the thought of her moving gloriously above (and below) him that preoccupies his thoughts, nor is it the way her skin flushed beautifully as she came undone. Somehow, this woman (or siren, as he is not quite convinced she’s not actually some demon sent to lure him to his death considering the way her body calls to him) has gotten to him. There was a lot unspoken between the two of them; he could tell she wasn’t comfortable sharing many personal details. Despite that, he saw the look of understanding in her eyes when he mentioned his lack of family in a roundabout way. Emma was a kindred spirit.

And, thanks to his stupidity—not insisting on getting her phone number before she left, what was he _thinking?_ —he would likely never see her again.

Bloody hell.

He loosens his tie, giving up on trying to look put together. Killian has been stuck in meetings all day, and as a result, he’s severely behind on other work. His inbox is full of projects that need approval as well as emails from his supervisor and the people he oversees. He’s juggling about three hundred things right now and it would be wonderful if he could focus on his work rather than a certain blonde goddess and the way she smiles and laughs and moans and _oh God_ , he’s so done for.

Looking at the clock hanging on the wall opposite his desk, Killian sees it is now 5:04 pm and decides not to stay late into the evening. It is, after all, Friday evening, and it’s not like he’s getting any work done, anyway. He’ll just have to spend his weekend at the office trying to get caught up before his meeting about Rob’s ‘special favor’ client on Monday.

He clocks out and heads to The Rabbit Hole. Fairly regularly, when he feels the need to unwind with a drink or two, he visits the establishment before going home, as its proximity to his office is quite convenient. A handful of times, Killian has worried that perhaps he spends a bit too much time there, seeing as every person who works in the establishment knows him by name, but it has never been more than a passing thought, and he’s a creature of habit at heart, so he sticks to the familiar environment rather than venturing elsewhere.

“Good evening, Captain!” hollers Will from his perch at the bar. Killian rolls his eyes and shoots his mate an exasperated eyebrow raise. He’s never going to live down dressing as Captain Hook for Halloween last year. At least, not if Will Scarlett has anything to say about it.

“Looking like a drunk mess, as usual, Scarlett,” he greets him. “Been here long?” Killian slouches down on the stool next to the man. He nods to the bartender in greeting, who promptly sits a tumbler of rum in front of him (perhaps another sign he spends too much time here?).

“Just a couple of hours, mate,” Will slurs. “Work’s a bloody nightmare these days. Had to cancel dinner with me wife on our anniversary to attend a fuckin’ last minute conference last weekend. Been sleepin’ on the couch ever since.”

Killian tries not to laugh at his inebriated companion, but Will gets sloppy drunk too often for it _not_ to be funny. And focusing on another’s life problems is taking his mind off Emma, so he might as well go all-in. “Tell me about it,” he prompts, spiraling the drunken man into a slurred tale of the _joys_ of marriage.

After another hour, Will is nearly incoherent. Killian hops in a cab with him and delivers the stumbling mess to his wife (who understandably looks fairly irritated). Belle thanks him for getting Will home safe and Killian offers up a lopsided smile and wishes her luck. “Try not to be too hard on the man,” he says softly. “He was going on about how much he misses you all evening.” He nods and heads out the door before she can respond.

Killian shuts the door and double locks it behind him when he arrives at his sister-in-law’s apartment in Brooklyn (he doesn’t trust the neighborhood and can’t quite figure out why she won’t let him help her out in buying a new place, but he’s lost that argument so many times he’s stopped trying) before immediately flopping down on the warm, comfortable, brown mock-suede sofa and closing his eyes.

He hears the patter of footsteps as she rounds the corner, no doubt preparing to berate him for showing up unannounced (again). “What are you doing here, Killian?”

“Nothing much _Nicole_ , just figured I’d drop in and say hello.” He cracks open one eye to catch her reaction.

Her eyes narrow until he can barely see them at his use of her given name, and he cracks a smile. Standing there, bun piled high on top of her head, hands on her hips, in a loose fitting tank top and leggings splattered with various specks of paint, she looks every bit the indie Williamsburg artist she has become. “What do you want?”

“Hello to you too, Tink. I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?”

She rolls her eyes and plunks down next to the spot where his head lies on the couch. “What are you doing here?” she asks again, softer this time.

He winces. She’s the only family he’s got left, and she always notices right away when he’s not quite himself. He supposes that is a consequence of dating his older brother for “I haven’t spoken to you in a couple weeks. Figured I’d come see how you are doing. On an unrelated note, I had a couple of drinks after work and I thought it irresponsible to make the drive all the way out to my house in this state.”

He sees a smirk form on her face as she grabs the remote and pulls up some mindless reality show on the television. “Back to the days of the drunken baby brother sleeping on the couch now?”

He does his best to look insulted at the comment or pained at the memory of spending nights with Tink and his late brother that it drags up. He spent a fair amount of time with Liam and her during his teen years, often watching films late at night and (drunkenly) laughing an inappropriate amount. “I beg your pardon. I merely said I don’t feel it would be appropriate for me to be driving, not that I’ve drunk myself into a stupor.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “I’m not judging. But there is that pesky fact you could have called a cab home. Granted, the fare would be comparable to my monthly rent. But still. You’re here for a reason, Kil.”

Killian winces and swallows. “I met someone.”

“You _met_ someone?” she asks, turning towards him in excitement. “Tell me everything.”

He licks his lips absentmindedly and pulls himself up into a sitting position. “Well, I think I’ll spare you all the dirty details, _sis_.” She whacks him over the head with a pillow. “But I met this lass—or _woman_ , rather—at Robin and Regina’s engagement party last week. And she was… indescribable.”

“Ew,” she interrupts, crinkling her nose. “You’re right; I don’t want all the dirty details.”

A breath of a laugh escapes his mouth. “Not what I meant, Tink. There was just something about her. She walked around the party socializing appropriately the entire time, and no one seemed to notice anything off. But it was clear, to me at least, she was not having as nearly much fun with it as everyone else.”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say, kid.”

Killian glances at her in warning; being called a kid by someone merely five years older than him is humiliating and degrading (even if she did help practically raise him) and he’s told her off for that many a time). “I was drawn to her. She was— _is_ —bloody gorgeous, but the smile on her face never quite lit up her eyes for the duration of the party. I wanted to see what she’d look like when she smiled genuinely.”

Tink sighs. “So you romanced her and she melted at your feet and you took her home for the night but didn’t let her get any sleep, I get it. You know I’ve heard this story a thousand times, Killian.”

“That’s just the thing; she _didn’t_ melt at my feet. She saw right through my feeble attempts at conversation.”

She raises her eyebrows in approval. “I like her already.”

“At first, of course. I’m quite persistent if need be,” he gloats with a smirk.

“There’s a fine line between persistent and forceful, Killian,” she warns, getting up to grab food from the kitchen.

“You don’t need to worry about me, love,” he assures her. “You see, I’m quite perceptive. I know when I’m not wanted in a situation, and that was not the case here. Emma may not have succumbed to my usual tactics, but she wasn’t disgusted or disinterested with my overall presence, if that is what you’re implying.”

She reclaims her seat, putting a bowl of chips between them and handing him a spoon for the carton of ice cream she has propped on her lap. “I don’t know, Killian. Your ego may make it hard for you to see recognize when someone genuinely wants to be left alone.”

“I beg your pardon,” he scoffs. “Well regardless, Emma proved she wanted my presence. Numerous times,” he adds with a smirk.

His sister-in-law punches him lightly on the arm. “Again, ew. Whatever, I obviously wasn’t there, so I’m not trying to argue with you. But be careful. Let her reach out to you next time.”

“Well that’s the bloody problem,” he grumbles. Tink shoots him a look of confusion. “She didn’t give me her phone number. The lass left with only a note to wish me goodbye.”

Tink lets out a genuine peal of laughter. “Let me get this straight: you took a willing, straight woman to your gorgeous house overlooking the ocean, spent the night with her, were legitimately interested, and she didn’t give you any way to contact her again? I’ve made up my mind, I like her a lot,” she says with a grin, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“Actually it was two nights, but yes, that is a fairly accurate summary. As far as you liking her, well that’s just excellent now, isn’t it? Seeing as you won’t meet her, well, ever. She may not have had qualms against spending the weekend with me, but she was quick to mention it was a ‘one-time thing’. Which I should have expected, I suppose. I didn’t take her home to begin a relationship,” he says with a scowl.

“You sound genuinely upset. Do you actually like this girl?” she says, turning towards him to examine his face in alarm.

He runs his hand down his face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t exactly have a chance to get to know a whole lot about her.”

“Oh, Killian,” she says knowingly, “you’ve got it bad. I wish you knew her last name, I wanna look her up.”

“As do I.”

She furrows her brow as she inhales a handful of chips. “Seems like she has something to hide.” Tink stills. “Oh shit, she’s not _married_ or something ridiculous, is she?”

“God, no,” he exclaims, “I can’t believe you think I’d be stupid enough to do something like that.”

“Again,” Tink murmurs under her breath.

The withering glare Killian shoots her would likely terrify anyone who hadn’t known the man as long as she had.

* * *

 

After waking up and treating his sister-in-law to breakfast in thanks for letting him crash with her, Killian takes the subway back to Locksley & Gold, Inc. and drives back to his house, enjoying the bright sunshine out his window. He takes his paperwork out to his back patio, trying not to think of the last person who had been there, making his ocean view even more spectacular with her golden hair and skin basking in the light.

Once he’s finally caught up on old paperwork, answered his backlog of emails, and reviewed the projects he should have assessed yesterday, he goes through his new client’s profile, pausing when he recognizes the attached photograph. He chuckles to himself as he listens to all the mp3s in the digital file and decides to call it a day once his entire back yard is in the shade as the sun dips low in the west. He jots down a couple of different PR and marketing tactics for his case before stuffing his notes and work computer back into his briefcase and heading in his house for the night.


	5. but this is gonna take me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was out of town without a computer. Then I decided to add ~3K words to this, which delayed me posting it further.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about how albums get made. And that information is surprisingly difficult to find online.

Emma arrives at Granny’s diner at 9 p.m. on Saturday to meet Ruby and August. Ruby demanded she dress up for their evening out, so she has donned one of her just barely long enough to be comfortable body con dresses left over from her days as a bail bondsperson. She’s a little self-conscious that her butt could be exposed at any given moment, but she knows the hot pink number is probably the only thing in her closet Ruby would approve of.

Sure enough the brunette squeals when she walks in. “Em, you look incredible!” Ruby exclaims.

Emma smiles sheepishly. “Thanks, Ruby. You look pretty fabulous yourself.” Her friend is wearing a black leather mini skirt and a red sparkly crop top with a pair of towering heels. Emma opted for slightly more comfortable shoes. Even though she isn’t in danger of ending up in the tabloids this evening, she still doesn’t want to walk out of whatever club Ruby drags her to barefoot, holding her heels in her hand. Ruby may be used to wearing towering heels, but she’s not. At least, not enough to keep shoes like that on the entire night.

Ruby calls after August to join them. When he emerges from the back room, he gives Emma a once over. “You clean up well, Emma,” he says appreciatively.

She smiles awkwardly at him and fidgets. “So where are we going?”

Ruby beams, grabs Emma’s hand and leads her and August out the door. “I have a friend who is the bouncer at Le Bain and promised to get us in tonight. You’ll love it, the place is incredible. It’s in the meatpacking district on the rooftop of the Standard and they have awesome DJs and music and pools—”

“Ruby,” Emma interrupts her as they hail a cab, “it sounds great. I trust your judgment, I’m sure the place is awesome.”

“Oh it is, I assure you.”

They arrive at the Standard Hotel a little bit after 9:45. When they get to the roof, Emma groans internally at the line to get in. It’s not ridiculously long by any means, but it’s early enough (in the club scene) that she assumed it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to get in. Thankfully, Ruby wolf whistles, catching the attention of a handsome man in a suit manning the front of the line. His eyes flicker in recognition and he waves them forward.

“Hey, Billy!” Ruby greets him with a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Rubes. You must be Emma and August,” he says, turning to the two of them and flashing them a bright white smile. “It’s nice to meet the both of you.” Emma and August murmur pleasantries and shake his hand. Billy lifts the rope aside, allowing the three of them entrance to the open rooftop area.

Looking around, she can tell Ruby wasn’t over-exaggerating the grandeur of the place. It’s classy and swanky and the drinks are probably _very_ overpriced, but the view of the city lights no doubt makes it worth it. There are several groups of people scattered around the terrace, sitting at tables nursing cocktails or chatting animatedly besides a pool. Ruby discreetly points out a few actors and socialites amongst the crowds (most of whom Emma doesn’t recognize) as they find an open table and wait to order drinks and appetizers.

Ruby rolls her eyes at Emma’s lack of interest about who may or may not be at the club. “Emma this is gonna be your life soon. You need to get comfortable with networking.”

“I _am_ comfortable with networking,” she defends. “I just don’t currently have enough clout to try and socialize with people in the industry without looking like some fangirl.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a fangirl,” August says diplomatically. “After all, you’re probably going to have loads of them soon enough. Being on the other end could be good for you.”

“When I was in middle school, I waited outside of an NSYNC concert until, like, three in the morning trying to meet Justin Timberlake. I didn’t even go to the concert because I couldn’t afford to buy a ticket, but that didn’t stop me from nearly freezing my ass off in an attempt to meet my favorite singer. So I understand what it’s like to be on the other side of things.”

“Did you meet him?” August asks.

“Nope. He didn’t come out of his tour bus. I did see Joey Fatone from several yards away though.”

“Bummer,” he says distractedly.

“Okay, well you don’t have to go up to whoever and say ‘ _Hi I’m a huge fan, can I get your autograph?_ ’, you can make conversation with people,” Ruby changes the topic back.

Emma shrugs. “If it happens normally, I will. But I’m not gonna force anything. We’re supposed to be out to have fun, remember? Regina told me to go crazy.”

A mischievous grin slowly breaks out across Ruby’s face. “Well, in that case…” She raises her hand to flag down one of the waitresses roaming around the bar area and orders three rounds of shots for them.

Emma sighs, knowing better than to tell her no. When the shots arrive, she takes the first one with Ruby and August without hesitation. She’s probably gonna hate herself in the morning, but she might as well have fun until then.

An hour and a half later, the rooftop has filled up considerably. The background music has been replaced with a live DJ surrounded by an open dance floor. Without a word, Emma finds herself being tugged towards the mob of dancing bodies by a fairly intoxicated Ruby. The shots and other drinks she’s consumed since she arrived at Le Bain have left her feeling warm and tingly and happy, so she giggles as Ruby pulls them into the crowd. They easily get lost in the music, dancing among the strangers happily.

Once Ruby and Emma have danced so much they are both covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing heavily, they return to their table to take a break.

“You’re no fun at all,” Emma pouts, sticking out her lower lip at August who has remained at the table for the past hour.

He raises up his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s not my fault you two decided to have five drinks in an hour, leave your purses on the table and take off to the dance floor. You should be thanking me for staying sober enough to find us a ride home and making sure you don’t get mugged.”

“Thank you, August,” Ruby sings, causing her and Emma to erupt into a fit of giggles.

He sighs heavily. “Yeah, of course. If you two could hang out here for a few minutes, I’m gonna go use the men’s room quickly.”

“Okay, bye Auggie!” Emma calls after him.

“Don’t look now,” Ruby whispers loudly (or maybe just says normally, the music is pretty loud, and for all she knows in her state of drunkenness, Ruby could be yelling in her ear), “but there are two hot guys sitting at the bar over there that keep glancing at us.”

Emma quickly looks over her shoulder and meets eyes with a man with an angular face, brown curls, and sharp eyes who flashes her a charming smile she automatically returns. He turns to his friend, cocks his head in the direction of the Emma and Ruby, and the two men sidle up to their table.

“How are you ladies doing this evening?” the blonde guy asks.

“We’re doing very well, thank you,” Ruby croons. “What about the two of you? Having a fun evening?”

“I am now,” the blonde says, smiling at her almost predatorily. “My name’s Victor,” he raises his hand to Ruby to shake her hand, then turns and does the same to Emma, “and this is my friend Walsh.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Emma says with a coy smile, clasping Walsh’s warm hand in hers. Up close, she notices that he has brown eyes and the way his gaze trails over her makes her shiver, not burn like Killian’s eyes had and _why the hell is she thinking about the guy from Regina’s party when she has another man right in front of her?_

“Can I buy you a drink?” Walsh asks her.

Emma glances at Ruby whose face is less than a foot away from Victor’s as the two of them quietly get acquainted. Behind Ruby, she sees August has stopped to make conversation with a tall, beautiful, dark-skinned woman with ridiculously shiny hair and figures she doesn’t need to babysit him. She looks back up at Walsh. “I don’t see why not.”

She learns Walsh and Victor are medical residents at Mount Sinai. The two of them have a rare weekend off, so they have come to Le Bain to celebrate and unwind. Emma is careful not to mention her career, as usual. Walsh doesn’t really take notice of the lack of any real details she gives about herself, though; he’s content to dazzle her with stories about his medical grandiose (some of which she could definitely do without—Emma isn’t exactly a fan of blood and guts and gore and illness). She would bet Walsh was raised in a wealthy family. Several of the stories he tells that don’t take place inside a hospital are set in fabulous locations like Dubai, Venice, the Maldives, the Greek isles, South Africa, or a beach in Thailand.

She takes a large swig of her double Captain and Coke, wanting to maintain her level of pleasant inebriation because his stories are interesting, but she’s pretty sure she would find this man annoying were she sober.

“Do you wanna dance?” Walsh asks, tilting his head towards the now larger crowd of people on the dance floor. Emma smiles and nods, taking his proffered hand and letting him lead her closer to the DJ with his hand on her lower back.

Walsh is a good dancer and Emma is just past tipsy and everything is tingly and fun and she’s feeling good with her body swaying back and forth and his hands sliding along the sides of her torso. She lets her head fall back to his shoulder as she continues moving to the beat. Walsh brushes some of the sweat-dampened hair over her shoulder, exposing the skin of her neck. He tilts his lips and tongue begin tracing patterns over her pulse point, making her shiver.

After that continues for a moment, Emma pulls back. “I have to use the restroom,” she says quickly. “Wait for me?” Walsh nods and releases her, leaving Emma free to go freshen up.

On her way to the bathroom, Emma spots Ruby who is entangled up with her blonde doctor. She figures it would probably be best to leave the two alone. Ruby will let her know if she leaves without her, and she knows her friend will demand that August stay behind to make sure she gets home okay, so she’s not too worried about them.

Luckily, the line outside the bathroom is very short—the many drinks have gotten to Emma and she’s not entirely sure how long her bladder can hold up. It only takes a minute or two until a stall frees up, and Emma sighs in relief when she sits down. Apparently her shoes (while not skyscrapers) were not the most comfortable footwear she could have chosen. While washing her hands, she squints at her reflection in the mirror, blinking against the bright bulbs above her head. Her hair is a bit of a mess, her eyeliner is smudged and her eyes are bloodshot and dilated. She suppresses a giggle as she takes in the mess that is her appearance.

Emma splashes some water on her face, wipes it off with a towel (because of course the swanky club has real towels instead of paper ones), and departs the bathroom, immediately running into someone.

“Emma! I was just looking for you,” her partner in collision (who is apparently Ruby) exclaims. “I just talked to August and he’s content to hang out here for a bit if you want to stay longer. I’m planning on going back with Victor unless you want me to stay?”

Emma smiles at Ruby’s excited and eager expression. “Go, have fun. I’m good.”

“Are you going home with Victor’s friend?” Ruby asks her.

“I’m not sure yet. We’ll see how things go.”

“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow. Probably late. Have fun and stay safe! Love you,” Ruby pecks Emma’s cheek before turning and hurrying to where her date for the night stands waiting for her. He makes eye contact with Emma, smiles, and waves, before settling his hand low on Ruby’s hip and pulling her towards the exit.

Emma finds Walsh around the corner from the hallway and in an instant his lips are on hers, firm and warm. Her eyes shoot open in surprise initially, but she allows them to close and rests her hands on his waist as he kisses her urgently. Emma has nothing against kissing, and the guy is certainly decent enough at it, but it irks her a little bit how he more or less attacked her face with no preamble. Flashes of Killian’s careful and hesitant approach to her the previous weekend cross her mind and she pulls back.

“You ready to get out of here?” Walsh breathes.

“Yeah, I think I better head home,” she says, pulling away from him to look for August.

“Alright, I’m ready too. Let’s go.”

Emma winces. Why can’t guys just take the hint sometime? She turns around to face him, being careful to make eye contact so he knows she’s serious. “Actually, I had fun tonight, but I think I’m gonna head home alone.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “What do you mean alone?”

She coughs nervously. “I mean alone. Just me. Going to my apartment.”

She watches his jaw flex. “You led me to believe something was happening between us tonight,” he growls. Emma suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. This guy clearly has an ego that is out of control. She’s still fairly drunk and she can discern that much. If the man is trying to intimidate her into sleeping with him, he’s picked the wrong girl. He’s pretty scrawny, and she worked in bail bonds for two years. She could take him down in a heartbeat.

“I spent some time with you, but I never said anything hinting at that. Sorry you’re not getting laid tonight—at least by me—but I’m leaving,” she states firmly before turning around and making eye contact with August. She tilts her head towards the exit of the club and he nods, pulling out his phone and making his way over to her.

“Stuck up bitch,” Walsh murmurs under his breath.

Without thinking, Emma grabs the collar of his shirt and pushes him back against the wall, but stops herself from landing a well-deserved punch on his jaw. “What did you say to me?” she says quietly, anger simmering hot in her chest (she’s never been so good at controlling that).

“I said, you’re a stuck up bitch,” he spits in her face.

She pushes a little bit harder against his chest with her forearms. “Listen here, buddy. I am under no obligation to fuck you just because we talked for a couple hours tonight and you bought me a drink. Actually, no. We didn’t even talk. _You_ did all the talking. It’s cool that you’re a doctor and all, but I really don’t need or want to hear stories about the terrors that can go on with the human body. Now, you can take this like a mature adult, or you can act like an egomaniac frat boy and call me names, but I’m done here. Goodbye.” She releases her grip on his shirt and turns around, grabbing the elbow of an impressed-looking August and storming towards the exit.

By the time they’ve made it to the lobby, an Uber driver is waiting for them on the street. They climb in and August nudges her to tell their driver her address. She rattles off the street and building number, then they take off. August asks the driver if he’s willing to drop him at his place after they drop Emma off, offering payment for that stretch, of course. The driver acquiesces and the car falls silent, save for the never ceasing sounds of the city.

“You alright?” August asks her quietly after a few minutes.

“Yep,” she mumbles grumpily, sliding down into her seat.

“What did that guy do? You seemed to be hitting it off earlier.”

“He was an entitled jerk who felt he deserved my attention, which pissed me off. Then when I told him respectfully that I was going home alone, as in without him, he got all angry and called me a stuck up bitch.”

“Well, it seems you definitely got the better of him,” he observes.

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, I guess. I’m probably gonna need to work on my temper, aren’t I?”

He chuckles softly and pats her arm. “Unfortunately, yes. Your outburst was entertaining to me, but I highly doubt Regina will feel the same way.”

Her head lands against the seat rest of the car with a muted _thunk_. “Regina would kill me if I pulled something like that and she knew about it. But hey, at least I didn’t punch the guy. It could have been worse.”

August laughs fully at that and they change the topic to his night. Emma learns that the woman she saw August talking to was a girl named Tamara he met while he was backpacking through Asia five years ago. He doesn’t say directly, but she is pretty sure they hooked up or something.

“Did you get her number?”

“Actually, I did. Don’t think I’m gonna call her, though.”

Emma glances over at him, confused. “Why not?”

He gives her a wry smile. “She had to take off early because her fiancé surprised her by coming back into town early.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “It was a banner night for both of us, basically.”

They arrive at Emma’s building, and she hands the driver a few bills, thanks him, and wishes August a good night. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe,” she says.

“No problem, I would hate myself if I didn’t. Also, Ruby would probably kill me, but that’s neither here nor there. Night, Emma.”

When she lets herself into the apartment, she can’t tell if Elsa is home and asleep or if she hasn’t yet returned home from her show, because her roommate’s door is closed. Emma tries her best to keep quiet as she quickly showers and brushes her teeth, though she isn’t sure how successful she is. Her ears are still ringing from the music, and despite having sobered up a bit, she’s still tipsy and clumsy as a consequence of the inebriation.

She doesn’t bother to try and comb the tangles from her wet hair. Instead, she towel dries it, pulls an oversized t-shirt over her head and falls into bed with a deep sigh.

* * *

 

Emma arrives nearly twenty minutes early to her meeting with Regina and the publicity team on Monday morning, wanting to ensure she makes a good impression. A secretary at Locksley & Gold whisks her down the hallway to a cozy conference room and she finds she’s the first one to show up for a meeting.

She sighs in relief. Emma woke up after noon the previous day with a raging hangover and hazy memories, courtesy of Ruby taking her out Saturday night. She was almost concerned she wouldn’t fully recover for her meeting with her publicists this morning and would show up still very noticeably recovering from a wild night out. Luckily, her ritual of vitamins, lots of water, and Aleve apparently proved successful and she woke up this morning without a headache or stomachache, a full two hours before her meeting.

Regina walks in the room with Robin in tow about five minutes after Emma gets there, smiling politely in greeting. If she’s impressed by Emma’s punctuality, she doesn’t remark on it, though Emma sees something that looks suspiciously like admiration cross her face before her manager sits down, smoothing her perfectly starched dress with her impeccably manicured nails.

(Emma often finds herself feeling intimidated by the way Regina is never _not_ picture perfect. Though she suspects the intimidation factor is completely intentional, knowing Regina.)

“Good morning, Miss Swan,” Robin greets her with a warm smile and a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope you had a good time at the party last weekend.”

Emma smiles automatically, his friendly demeanor helping rid her of the sometimes cold business vibe she gets during meetings like these. “Absolutely. The two of you certainly know how to put together a lovely fête. I’m sure the ceremony will be absolutely incredible.”

The man laughs kindly. “Well thank you, my dear, though I have to admit that was all Regina’s doing.” He shoots his fiancée an adoring smile, causing Regina’s own face to soften. “She’s quite the organizer.”

Emma nods and smiles at Regina. “Oh I’m aware. She certainly keeps me on my toes.”

At first, Emma is baffled by the extraverted friendliness Robin exudes; he seems like the polar opposite of Regina. However, as the minutes tick down and the meeting approaches, she sees more and more that the man completely balances her manager out. In his presence, Regina is softer; her sometimes harsh demeanor gives way to something kinder and less domineering.

Robin jovially introduces Emma to all the team members that join them before the meeting starts, explaining their various roles in the publicity of her album. There’s about five people there, mostly interns and assistants acting as scribes, as well as a social media consultant. By the time 9:00 rolls around, there’s still an empty seat at the table. She hears Robin say something about someone running a bit late, but they begin the meeting.

Everyone introduces themselves, starting with Emma and ending with Regina who goes over every facet of Emma’s work in detail, from how she got started in music, to the themes in her album, to what she and Emma have already discussed about her portrayal in the media.

About ten minutes into the meeting, the door behind Emma swings open. “So sorry, I’m late everyone,” a voice calls out from over her shoulder. “I was on a conference call doing some damage control for another client, and it went over.”

She stiffens at the familiarity of the voice and her eyes follow the brisk movement of the man in grey as he pulls out the empty chair across the table from hers. He looks up and flashes her a brilliant smile, his blue eyes making her stomach drop.

“You must be Ms. Swan. I’m Killian Jones. I’ll be acting as your chief publicist. The rest of these chumps are just here to make me look good.”

Emma blanches at his outstretched hand for a moment before bringing her own up to meet his and shaking his hand. “Please,” she says a bit weakly, “call me Emma.”

This day could not possibly get any worse.

* * *

 

Thanks to various contacts all over the city, her publicity team has scheduled a couple of late night and early morning television appearances and a radio interview for her over the next couple of weeks. The first song off her album is due to drop tomorrow afternoon, and if all goes well, Killian says he expects he’ll be hearing from lots of people about further appearances. They talk about the possibility of doing advertisements for different products as well as radio interviews

Most exciting of all is Robin’s news. Apparently, he has a close friend who does scheduling for Saturday Night Live. Thanks to Iggy Azalea bowing out mere _weeks_ before she was supposed to perform, there’s an opening waiting for Emma if she wants it.

“Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “Of course! I would love to perform on SNL, I’ve been a huge fan of the show for years.”

Half an hour after the discovery, Emma is still reeling in excitement about her SNL debut as her meeting concludes. Her excitement has almost been enough to overshadow her complete shock that her one night stand from a week ago is now her publicist, which is an impressive feat.

After saying goodbye and thanking everyone in the conference room, she exits smoothly right behind Killian. “Do you have a moment we could talk?” she hisses in his ear.

He glances down over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “Aye, let’s take this into my office, shall we?” He places a hand on her back (not low enough to be suspicious or indecent) and guides her into a cozy but modernly styled room with a large window overlooking the city. As he sits down at his desk, he gestures for Emma to do the same. She declines, preferring to pace angrily across from his desk.

“What the hell is this?” she whisper-yells, not trusting his door to block out the noise to the rest of the company.  “How did this happen? Did you stalk me and find out who I was? Did you make Robin give you my case?”

He looks positively affronted at her accusations. “Actually, love, I have to say I’m just as surprised as you are,” he says tersely. “Imagine my surprise on Friday when I opened up an email containing everything I needed to know about my newest client and saw your face in the picture.”

She silently fumes while studying him for a moment. “You had nothing to do with this?”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Of course I didn’t. You made it clear you didn’t want to be contacted again. I have some dignity, Swan. I wouldn’t pursue a woman who was so clearly trying to escape my affections.”

Emma sighs, letting out a breath she hasn’t realized she’d been holding. “Okay, then.”

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” he asks suddenly.

“Not gonna build up to that at all, are you?” Emma deflects, taking a seat across from his desk (figuring she should be sitting down for this).

“I thought we had a lovely time together. I did offer to give you a ride back into the city. And I really would have liked the chance to ask you for your phone number,” he says with a sad smile.

“Killian, I’m sorry. But I did tell you it was a one-time thing.” This is why she doesn’t sleep with guys she will ever see again. God, this is too awkward. She should have known meeting him at her manager’s engagement party meant she would probably see him around.

“Did it feel like a casual fling to you? Because I’ve had those, and what we have is completely different.”

She swallows heavily at his use of the present tense, unsure how to deal with the weight in his gaze. “Well that doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re my publicist. We had a fun time together, but I think it’s probably best our relationship stays strictly business from here on out.” Her voice carries much more conviction that she feels.

Killian nods to himself and pushes out his chair. “Alright, well I’m glad that’s cleared up,” he says, walking towards the door. “Well if that’s all, Swan, you’re free to go. I’ll be sure to be in contact regarding your upcoming appearances and anything else that may come up.” His switch from almost heartbreakingly romantic to formal business startles Emma as she gets up. He seems a bit hurt, but at least he’s not lashing out at her. She supposes it’s a good sign that he will respect her wishes to remain professional.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, then,” she mumbles, “it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”

“Have a good day, Miss Swan,” he says softly as she walks out his door and back towards the elevators.

 

“Wait a minute, he’s _what_?” Ruby asks over the phone, practically yelling in Emma’s ear.

“He’s my publicist,” she growls in the receiver.

Ruby’s answering laugh is so loud Emma has to hold her cellphone a few inches away from her face to prevent going deaf. “Your one-night stand who you wrote a romantic song about now works with you? Oh god, this is great. This is some Grey’s Anatomy shit, right here,” she laughs. “Well is he at least hot? Does he have the whole McDreamy hair thing going on? If your life is gonna be some giant cliché, you have to at least do it right.”

“That is so not the point, Ruby,” she says icily.

“Duh, of course he’s hot,” Emma swears her friend only listens to about a third of the things she says, “you spent a weekend with him and then wrote a song calling him handsome as hell. So, when are you going to see him again?”

“It’s not like that. It was just a one night stand—”

“Two nights!” Ruby interrupts.

“ _Fine_ , whatever, two-nights stand, it didn’t mean anything. And we work together. That would just be a recipe for disaster.”

“Whatever. That’s exactly what Meredith Grey said, too. And now look where they are.”

“Ruby, my life is _not_ an episode of _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

Ruby hums in a way that Emma has learned means her friend has given up on the conversation. “Sure it’s not. Wanna come by Granny’s later and tell me more about the guy? I promise I won’t even persuade you to call him! I just want to live vicariously through you.”

“What do you mean you want to live vicariously through me? What happened to that hot doctor you left with on Saturday night?”

She sighs dramatically. “Victor? He was great. But I didn’t tell him I’d only see him again in my wildest dreams, only to find out I’m gonna be seeing _and_ working with him all the time. Your current romantic situation is _way_ more interesting. But, if you come over tonight when I get off at 8, I’ll buy you dinner and we can both exchange details.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Emma sighs in defeat (she finds herself doing that a lot where Ruby’s concerned as of late).

“Perfect!” she squeals. “Bye Ems!”

* * *

Killian’s reappearance has made Emma a lot less tight-lipped about the details of their weekend together, simply because of her need to vent about the entire situation. At dinner with Ruby, she caves, spilling the details of hers and Killian’s weekend together. She tells her friend about him making her breakfast, taking her out on his boat all day, then making her dinner as she relaxed in his pool.

Ruby sighs, looking at Emma dreamily as she recounts everything. “Oh my god, you _have_ to see this guy again.”

“Ruby. He’s my publicist. I’m not going to go out with him,” she deadpans.

Her friend sits up straighter and scrutinizes her. “Wait a minute. Is this why you didn’t leave with Victor’s other doctor friend the other night? You’re totally hung up on Killian!”

“Okay, just because I decided against going home with what’s-his-face—”

“Walsh,” Ruby supplies.

“Walsh, doesn’t mean I’m hung up on some other guy.”

“But it may mean that you were so _deeply_ satisfied from spending hours upon hours in another man’s bed two weeks before,” Ruby says with a smirk.

“You have the mind of a twelve-year-old boy.”

The brunette smiles proudly. “Whatever, you love it. Speaking of hours spent in Killian’s bed, how was the sex?”

Emma’s cheeks flush as her friend all but _yells_ her question. “Jesus Christ, Ruby, could you speak up a bit? I think there’s a couple people in the back corner of the restaurant who didn’t hear you.” Ruby doesn’t react to Emma’s chastising. She raises her eyebrows expectantly at Emma urging her to continue. “Okay, fine. It was good. _Really_ good.”

Ruby’s eyes light up and she squeals. “I knew it. Do you have a picture of him? I need to see him so I can picture this.”

“Uhm, I’m not sure I necessarily _want_ you to picture me having sex with some guy?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to get a better picture of the whole situation.” Ruby pulls out her phone and begins scrolling through it. “You said he works at Locksley and Gold, right?”

“Yes, wait, are you looking him up? Ruby, don’t.”

“Why not? You have all the sexy memories of him, I have no clue what he looks like. Ah! I found him. Holy shit, Ems.”

Emma snatches the phone out of her hands to look at the screen. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Alright, it’s official. You two need to be together,” Ruby declares.

“You’ve never even met the guy.”

“That’s true,” she contemplates, biting down on her bright red-painted bottom lip. “We should change that. We can go out together!”

“I’m dangerously close to just giving you the silent treatment until you stop trying to convince me to date Killian.”

“You are literally the least fun person I know,” Ruby pouts.

“Then why are you always hanging out with me?” Emma asked with a smirk.

“At this point, I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m just here as your fairy godmother. Trying to get you to go out with the dirty hot prince.”

“Since when are publicists princes?”

“Since now, apparently,” Ruby says. “Whatever, I’ll drop it. But just know that it isn’t my fault you’re ruining your life by avoiding some super-hot sex god because you’ve got a long list of dumb excuses.”

“I appreciate you dropping it. Although you definitely could have put that more nicely.”

Ruby makes a face at her. “Sorry, _Mom_. I’ll be sure to speak to my elders more politely from now on.

Emma throws a French fry at her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are up to date with Grey's Anatomy, I wrote Ruby's line a while before the end of this most recent season. So at that point, Meredith & Derek were still in their 'happily ever after phase'
> 
> Thanks for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far and/or what you'd like to see in the upcoming chapters.


	6. you see me in hindsight

Emma wakes up Sunday afternoon with a mild hangover and a smile on her face. She had her first live television performance the night before—and on _Saturday Night Live_ no less—and it had gone as well as she could have expected. She had a ton of fun watching the rehearsals for the sketches and even managed to swing Mary Margaret and David a couple of tickets to watch the show in studio. She’s been teasing them lately about not doing anything fun, so she figured she might as well help them get out of the house.

She stretches out in her bed and yawns. Leaning over to her nightstand and picks up her phone, internally groaning at the myriad of notifications. Scrolling through her emails absentmindedly, she pauses to read one from Regina and is shocked to see it’s filled with the closest thing to praise that can come from her manger.

> _Ms. Swan,_
> 
> _Congratulations on your performance last night. You did an excellent job. Your twitter mentions and followers have gone up significantly, as has the interest about your album. ‘Fall’ has even broken the iTunes top 20. Several people have contacted me about doing some more performances, so you’re likely going to be really busy for the next couple of months._
> 
> _Stop by and see my tomorrow morning between 9 and noon, we have lots to discuss._
> 
> _Great job,_
> 
> _Regina_

Emma calls Mary Margaret, knowing her sister-in-law will be extremely displeased if she doesn’t share the news with her immediately.

“Emma!” she squeals when she picks up the call. “You are everywhere right now!”

She chuckles nervously. “Yeah I suppose that’s why I’m calling. I just got an email from Regina saying I’ve gained a lot of interest in my music and stuff.”

“This is so exciting, congratulations! Why don’t you sound more excited?”

“Umm,” she hesitates and bites her lip, “I don’t know exactly. Obviously I’m thrilled people like the song and are interested in hearing more from me. But I’ve never been super interested in being under the scrutiny of the public eye. I don’t want stuff from my past coming up, you know?”

“I understand, sweetie. But this is what you’ve been working towards for two years now, maybe even your whole life if you consider the time you spent teaching yourself guitar and singing in choir when you were a kid. From what you’ve told me, your records have been sealed up tight. The tabloids shouldn’t have access to anything.”

Emma relaxes a bit, Mary Margaret’s soothing tone bringing her down from her worries. “Regina said she buried them, and is even trying to get my record wiped, but I am just afraid they’ll somehow get their hands on it anyway. I really don’t need the whole country knowing I was arrested for theft as a teenager.”

“There’s no need to worry about that happening now. Your manager has seen to it that the records are hidden and well-sealed. Try not to worry about anything unless it actually becomes an issue. Besides, what you did as a minor in order to survive is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, it could be a way to bring attention to homeless youth. You could start doing some verbal activism, start a charity or something. It could be good publicity.”

Emma smiles at her sister-in-law’s eternal optimism, thinking to herself Mary Margaret in the physical embodiment of everything one would expect an elementary school teacher to be. “Sometimes I think I should make a game out of this. Come up with the most tragic events I can think of and see how you put a positive spin on it,” Emma jokes. “Have you ever thought about ditching those little monsters you hang out with every day and coming to be my publicist? Your positivity could probably do me some good.”

Mary Margaret’s peal of laughter echoes in Emma’s ear. “Emma, my first graders are not monsters,” she chastises lightly. “And, no, I’m not about to start work in publicity. Regina has already tried to get me to consider that. I’m happy at school and have no desire to change careers. Sorry!”

“Hey, it was worth a shot. But I may come crawling to you once the media finds something about me to tear apart. Regina says it’s only a matter of time.”

“I hate to say it, but I’m sure she’s right. It seems like no one can be of interest in the popular media and avoid some silly rumor. But just remember, no matter what happens, David and I are here for you. If things get bad in the city, you can always come lie low and crash with us, you know we love having you here.”

“Thanks, Mary Margaret. I honestly don’t know how I’d do all this without your support.”

“No need to thank us,” she brushes Emma off like her gratitude is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, “we’re so glad to have you in our lives, Emma. Text me and let me know when you have some free time. We need to get together for dinner sometime soon.”

“Will do,” she assures her. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sounds great, Emma. Congratulations again on your performance last night. I’m so proud of you. Love you!”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

Emma jumps when her door slams open and Ruby flies in and hops into bed with her. “Um… hi?” she greets her friend, alarmed at her entrance. “What are you doing here?”

“Elsa let me in,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Here, I have something to show you.” Ruby digs through her oversized bag and pulls an iPad out. She unlocks it and thrusts it into Emma’s hands.

“ _Ten Things You Need To Know About Emma Swan_?” Emma reads the headline incredulously.

Ruby nods eagerly, flashing a bright grin. “Buzzfeed is apparently interested in you.”

Emma scrolls through the list, eyebrows raised in shock. “I don’t know that half of this stuff is exactly newsworthy,” she says doubtfully as she analyzes the various blurbs about everything from her brother’s name, to her connections to Kristoff, to the drop date of her album. “I mean, who cares that I moved to New York a few months ago from Boston?”

“Okay, the actual content of the list is not the point, Emma,” Ruby answers with an eye roll. “The point is, people are _talking_ about you. This is awesome news!”

Emma suppresses an eye roll of her own. “I am aware that people are talking. But that also means I’m gonna start being watched soon. Which means no more clubbing.”

She tries not to show too much amusement at the way Ruby pouts. Apparently losing your reluctant clubbing buddy is a huge downer. “Not necessarily,” Ruby says. “We will just go to more exclusive places! And now that you’re _famous_ , we can get into those places.”

Emma raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m not indulging your ‘rubbing elbows with the rich and famous’ fantasy. Besides, Brad Pitt is happily married.”

Ruby flops back on the bed, lying down beside Emma and huffing. “I know he’s married. But he’s also not the only hot man in Hollywood.”

“We’re in New York.”

“You know what I mean, Emma!”

* * *

Emma walks out of her meeting with Regina on Monday morning feeling overwhelmed. In the next two weeks, she has two appearances on late night television, one morning show performance, and she’s hosting the weekend countdown on the radio. Apparently her publicity team has been hard at work.

She is leaving Regina’s building when she runs into Killian Jones (very literally). “Ah, shit, I’m so sorry,” she says quickly, bending down to help him retrieve the stack of papers now scattered all over the floor.

He glances up at her with a bright smile, completely blindsiding her with his apparent inability to be upset. “No problem, love.”

She swallows and flashes a nervous smile at him as she sets the papers she picked up on top of the ones he’s holding, trying not to actual make physical contact with him. “So, um, I’d better be going…” She nods awkwardly towards the elevators.

“I’m actually on my way for a coffee right now, would you like to join me?” he interrupts her trailing sentence smoothly.

“Killian, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” This whole ‘seeing her one night stand all over the place’ thing is really sucky and she would not wish it on anyone.

Except probably Neal. Because fuck that guy.

“Nonsense, coffee is always a good idea.” He waves her off as he sets his stack of papers in a nearby filing box. “Not to mention I’m pretty sure this is the only time I’ve seen you before sundown when you’ve not had a cup in your hand,” he adds with a knowing grin.

Emma chews on the inside of her cheek. “Fine. But as friends.”

He eyes her carefully. “I never implied anything to the contrary, now did I?”

 

They go to a Starbucks around the corner from the building that houses both his and Regina’s offices and he doesn’t object when she insists on paying for her own drink.

“So, Miss Swan, I must say you’ve made my job quite the living hell these past couple of days.”

Emma squints at him in confusion. “Sorry?”

He smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ve received no less than two dozen correspondences from people who want you. Everything from late night television to guest appearances at events.”

“Seriously? I only have one single out. I don’t see why anyone would jump at the opportunity to have me anywhere.” The response to one song and one decent performance is utterly insane. It makes Emma worry she may be something of a one-hit wonder.

He looks disappointed at her reaction. “You need to give yourself some credit. You’re a beautiful, talented young woman who’s just released an excellent first single that’s unlike the monotony of pop music out there right now. Of course people are eager to make connections with you.”

She takes a long drink from her coffee cup, trying to mask the flush on her face. “You think so?” she asks meekly.

“Absolutely,” he answers sincerely, eyes not leaving hers. “I primarily do publicity for actors, so I may not be the most knowledgeable person on the topic, but I think your music is going to do very well, Emma.”

She finds herself unable to answer for a second, shocked by his sincerity. “Thank you, Killian.” It’s the first time she’s allowed herself to say his name since their weekend tryst after Regina’s party a month ago.

His serious expression dissolves into a content half-smile and he tentatively lays his hand on top of hers. “I’ve seen people go through this journey countless times. If you need some reassurance or just someone to talk to, feel free to give me a call. I know you have people, but sometimes it helps to have someone who knows what you’re going through.”

The feeling of his warm, solid hand on hers helps calm her more than his kind words already had. “I may do that,” she says, smiling tentatively.

His grin stretches a bit wider. “I hope so. And if you’d like to discuss things over dinner, I’m free every night,” he adds cheekily.

Emma scowls at him to hide the smile that is threatening to overtake her face. “You’re shameless.”

“I prefer persistent. Though, if you truly do not wish to spend any time in my company outside of business, I rescind the offer. However, I do have one question for you.”

She analyzes his face in confusion. “Yes?”

“When did you write the song _Wildest Dreams_?” he says carefully, his expression giving nothing away.

Emma takes a slow sip from her drink. “Not sure exactly. Why do you ask?” She’s pretty impressed with herself that her voice sounds so steady. She’s never actually had to worry about being confronted by the subject of one of her songs before.

“I suppose it just struck a chord in me is all,” he says nonchalantly (though Emma swears she detects a note of disappointment in it).

Her heart flip flops in her chest, which she promptly ignores. “What, I refer to someone as handsome as hell in a song and you automatically assume it’s about you?” she says with a playful smirk.

He raises a single eyebrow at her. “Have you _seen_ me?” This time she doesn’t actually try to contain her laughter at his quip, glad he’s lightening the mood a bit. “But actually it was more the description of meeting while staring at the sunset, leaving the city together and not seeing one another again, though I guess that last point is moot now.”

Emma stares at him for a moment, unbreathing. “Look, Killian…” she trails off, unable to think of anything to say.

He sighs and sits back a bit straighter. “Never mind it. He glances at his watch and frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I apologize, Swan, but it seems my break is over. It was nice catching up with you.” He pulls her hand up to his lips, grazing her knuckles softly without breaking eye contact. “I look forward to hearing from you. My offer still stands: if you ever need to vent to someone about things, I’ve been told I am quite an excellent listener.”

Emma realizes after Killian leaves that she her mouth had dropped open at his method of farewell. Who does this man think he is, anyway? Turning the charm on high and mixing his stupid flirtations with old school romance. Killian Jones is quite possibly the most irritating person she knows. And of course she has to see him regularly when all she wants to do is forget about the skill that backs up every one of his innuendos.

She shivers, breaking herself out of her train of thought, and gets up to leave. Apparently swearing off all men was going to be a lot more difficult than she had originally thought.

She glances at her phone and sees a Twitter notification that reads, “Spotted: Emma Swan and her handsome beau out for a coffee date!” Her stomach drops as she pulls up the tweet and sees the picture of her and Killian, hands intertwined and eyes connected.

Well, fuck. This is just wonderful.

* * *

“I understand that you are an adult woman and that you have… _needs_ ,” Regina lectures over the phone, “but coffee dates in the middle of the day are not exactly discrete. Not to mention sleeping with your publicist is a recipe for disaster.”

Emma cringes at her manager’s tone. The admonishment isn’t unexpected. She had been very adamant about wanting her personal life out of the press and her manager had gone to great lengths to help keep her past out of the spotlight. “I know, I’m sorry. But it really isn’t like that. We just ran into each other outside of your office yesterday morning and both happened to be needing coffee. It was definitely _not_ a date,” she insists.

“You mean to tell me you have not slept with Killian Jones?”

Emma pauses and decides to tell her the truth. “Not since before I knew I was going to be his client.”

Regina’s answering sigh packs more disappointment and frustration than Emma could have thought possible without the use of words. “You should have told me immediately. It’s a conflict of interest. Jones is a professional, so I know he wouldn’t go release a tell-all about you or anything like that, but he can’t do an effective job at maintaining your presence in a positive but impartial way if the two of you are involved.”

“But we aren’t—”

“Semantics. If you have any history with the man, he should not be directly involved with your publicity. I’ll have you taken off his client list immediately.”

Emma hasn’t felt this small since she was a kid being told off by the older kids in whatever group home she was stuck in at the time. “I’m really sorry, Regina. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear it. This may sound callous, but in the future, if you are seeking out someone for whatever needs you might have,” Emma may have never had a true and proper sex talk, but this conversation with her manager is worse than what she imagines any parent could dish up, “you may want to keep it within the industry. Outsiders are much more likely to talk to press just so they can get their fifteen minutes of fame. If you’d like, I have lots of contacts and can set you up with someone, should you be in search of a date.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m good,” Emma says. That feels just a little too close to prostitution and it makes her stomach lurch. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Swan,” she sighs resignedly. “This is my job. Just try not to do anything too reckless for the time being.”

“Will do,” Emma assures her. The call ends without further pleasantries (which she has learned are not Ms. Mills’ specialty) and Emma stows her phone in her pocket as she enters the building in front of her. Tonight, she will be performing on _Late Night with Seth Myers_ , and her day is booked with a quick mic check and rehearsal, hair and makeup for the show, a short interview, and her actual performance. It’s technically the first time she’s actually been interviewed on air, but the show doesn’t air live so it can’t be that bad. At least, she hopes not.

Coming out of hair and makeup, Emma spots a man in a white button-up with a familiar build scratching behind his ear as he goes through some papers with _Late Night_ staff. She takes a deep breath before approaching him; there’s no way he’s there coincidentally. “Killian,” she says cautiously, catching his attention, “what are you doing here?”

He looks up from the document he’s reading through and offers her a small smile in greeting. “Hello, Miss Swan. I’m just going through the approved interview topics quickly. Now, you didn’t answer my email last evening, but I assume you would like to keep the interview free of recent developments?”

“If you mean do I want to avoid answering questions concerning that stupid picture that’s on Page 6, then yes, that would be super,” she deadpans.

He nods distractedly, eyes going down to scan through the document. “That would be wise. The questions should stick to your album and career for the most part. There’s a bit of room for an anecdote about your family or friends should you choose to include one. Personally, I would recommend it. Fans like to think they are getting to know you. Celebrities also tend to come across as cold and distant when they withhold any sort of personal detail. Although I’m definitely not trying to tell you what to do,” he adds quickly, glancing up at her from the papers in her hands. Killian finishes going through the list and signs his approval at the bottom, glancing up at her once he’s finished. “Any other questions for me?”

“Umm,” she begins, puzzled at his strictly-business demeanor (and, to be frankly honest, his presence here at all, considering Regina’s insistence he’d be off her case), “no, I guess not.”

He nods tightly in farewell before turning to head towards the door. “You’re not even going to ask to talk about yesterday?” she asks, causing him to stop in his tracks.

Killian turns once more to face Emma, scratching nervously behind his ear. “I’m here as your publicist today, Emma. I wouldn’t dream of putting you in a situation that would make your professional life uncomfortable.” Emma softens. At least she didn’t fuck up as bad as she possibly could have with this one. He could be a lot worse. “Additionally, I _did_ ask you to contact me if you wanted to talk yesterday morning. My offer still stands.”

“Oh.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up at her loss for words; it seems he has picked up on how rare of an occasion that is. “Call me when you get a chance. If you would like, that is. Good luck this afternoon, Swan. I’m sure you will do wonderfully.”

She thanks him softly as he turns and makes his way towards the door.

Seemingly right after the door shuts behind Killian, Emma finds herself being pulled backstage so they can start the show. She’s wearing a fitted cream colored dress with black piping and towering heels and she can’t help but not quite feel like herself, even though she picked out the ensemble. Public speaking has never been her favorite thing and millions of people will see this show either when it airs this evening or on YouTube tomorrow. She’s not so sure how she feels about that. Singing is one thing—she chooses exactly what words she’ll be sharing with the world far ahead of time. But an unscripted, _televised_ talk is the exact opposite of inside her comfort zone.

After what feels like an eternity of sitting on the couch in her dressing room, bouncing her legs up and down anxiously, a producer comes and tells her it’s time for her to come backstage. She sighs in relief, despite the butterflies in her stomach. Her wait has felt like an eternity, though in reality it’s probably closer to half an hour.

“Here with us tonight, we have a very special guest, who also happens to be our musical guest this evening,” Emma hears Seth Meyers’ voice ringing through the set. “You may know her from her hit single ‘Fall’ which has been all over the radio the past couple weeks. Please help me in welcoming Emma Swan!”

She takes a deep breath and makes her way on the stage, smiling and waving at the studio audience. She relaxes as she approaches the interview area, because _thank God_ she didn’t trip on the short walk. She shakes Seth’s hand and continues smiling, very aware of the people in the audience watching her every move.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Emma,” the host greets her warmly. She can’t help but feel like it’s weird to be acting like this is their first conversation when they did more or less the same thing a couple hours prior during the rehearsal, but she won’t complain.

“It’s great to meet you too, Seth, thank you so much for having me on tonight,” she gushes.

“We’re so glad you could be here! So, Emma, how does it feel to have your very first single topping the charts? You’ve gotta be pretty excited.”

“Definitely,” Emma says with a sincere smile. “I’ve been making music since I was able to get my hands on a second hand guitar when I was thirteen and it’s so nice being able to finally get a chance to share my work with the world.”

“And it seems the world is loving your work so far! Your album, _Dreams_ , comes out in just a little while doesn’t it?”

She nods. “Yep, it will be released in four weeks, on November tenth.” The audience cheers appreciatively and Emma smiles towards them in thanks.

“We’re so excited to hear the rest of it,” Seth assures her with a grin. “Any chance we’ll get another single from it before the album release?”

“Yes, actually. I believe the plan is to release my next song sometime in the next week. Though, I’m probably not the best person to ask about the business things,” she adds apologetically. “I’m still a bit clueless as to what’s going on there.”

“Could tell us a little about the song?”

She nods. “The song we plan to release as the next single is called _Snow Drifts_. It was actually inspired by my brother and my sister-in-law’s relationship. They’re one of those couples who are ridiculously perfect for one another. I like to tell them they are a match made in Disney, which may have inspired them on Halloween last year, as they dressed up as Prince Charming and Snow White. They’re both really kind, genuinely good people and they are so happy together. I don’t know how they do it,” she says with a shrug.

The host laughs at her description of the couple. “So does this mean you haven’t found your own Prince Charming yet?”

Emma shrugs and tries to not look terrified or upset about the question. Her thoughts flicker to the picture of her and Killian circulating the internet that they had specifically requested she not be asked about. “Nope, I’m single currently. I’m pretty good at taking care of myself,” she answers, relieved at the nonchalant quality her voice miraculously takes on.

Seth turns towards the audience. “You hear that gentlemen? The beautiful Emma Swan is _single_ ,” he says, drawing out the last word and punctuating it with an over the top wink, making Emma laugh and shake her head at him. “Well, thank you again for coming out here today, Emma! Everyone be sure to check out her single ‘Fall’from her upcoming album _Dreams_ , out November tenth!” The audience claps appreciatively and she feels a giant weight lift off her shoulders. The interview hadn’t gone nearly as bad as she had expected.

“Stay tuned—after the commercial break, Emma will be performing a couple songs for us!”

Seth congratulates her and tells her the interview went great.

“You really think so? God, I was so nervous. I’m not a huge fan of the whole unscripted public speaking thing,” she admits.

“No, you did very well. I doubt anyone will be able to tell you’re nervous,” Seth assures her.

Compared to her interview, the performance is a breeze. Her band plays wonderfully and the set is a really fun environment. They perform “Fall” and “Snow Drifts”, and she gets a standing ovation at the end. After the performance, Emma shoots Regina a quick email letting her know the show went really well, then she showers and changes into comfortable clothes before walking to the train station and texting David to let him know she’s on her way to his house.

On the way to the train station, two girls who look to be about high school-age politely stop her.

“Are you Emma Swan?” one of them asks.

She looks at them in surprise. “Yeah, I am,” she says with a smile.

“Oh my gosh, we _love_ your song Fall! I already preordered your album on iTunes,” the second girl gushed.

Emma is so touched she wants to tear up. “You did? Thank you so much.”

“Can we get a picture with you?” the first girl asks.

“Absolutely,” Emma says with a smile.

The girls pose on either side of her, holding out their cell phones and snapping a selfie with her.

“Thank you so much, Emma!” they say, hugging her. She’s startled for a minute before returning the embrace.

“You’re welcome. It was nice to meet you two.”

During the rest of her walk to the train station, she can’t wipe the smile off her face. She had been nervous about interacting with fans, because she’s never been that comfortable with affection, especially with strangers. She’s relieved to learn her gratitude towards her supporters heavily outweighs her desire to fly under the radar.

She checks her phone and finds a response from David, who seems enthusiastic for her to come over. The first month she lived in the city, Emma took the train to New Jersey almost once a week to have dinner with her brother and sister-in-law. But as her career has started to take off, the events have grown rarer; Emma hasn’t been out to see them in nearly three weeks. She hates the concept of people getting too famous or too busy to spend time with their loved ones and went she set off on this journey, she made a vow to herself she wouldn’t do that.

She feels guilty for going so long between visits, but it’s just a temporary thing. Once things calm down in her professional life, she fully intends to spend more time with her family, though it still feels weird to actually have people to _call_ family after her years drifting in and out of foster homes.

Her brother greets Emma at the door to his house before she’s even had a chance to knock and pulls her into a bear hug. “Hey, kiddo,” David greets her warmly. “Come on in.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret exclaims as soon as she’s within her sister-in-law’s range of vision. “I’m so glad to see you.” She wraps Emma in a tight hug (Emma had a difficult time getting used to David’s and Mary Margaret’s easy affection when she first met them, but she has since learned to love being close to her family) and pulls back to look at her. “How are you doing? You look good, but your eyes look tired.”

She chuckles. “Well thank you for not just saying _I_ look tired. I am good. Everything has been so chaotic lately, but it’s really exciting. So yeah, I’m a bit tired. But spending all day in a studio will do that to you.”

“How’d it go today?” David asks her from the kitchen where he’s begun setting the table for dinner.

“It went pretty well, I think. But I mean you can see for yourself in a couple hours.”

Mary Margaret smiles in delight—though Emma’s not really sure she’s ever seen the woman _not_ smiling. She’s gotta be the single happiest person she’s met in her life. She muses that they should bottle up whatever is going on in her sister in law and sell it as an anti-depressant. “I’m so excited to watch you. I’m sure it went fantastically.”

Emma smiles awkwardly in response. Even though David and Mary Margaret have been in her life since she was eighteen, she sometimes has trouble accepting the fact she has a real family now. And not only that—her family is composed of the most cheerful humans on the planet, which is a nice contrast to her own _super sunny_ demeanor.

Emma and her sister-in-law join David in the kitchen. Emma sits down at the table, knowing Mary Margaret will just shoo her away if she tries to help with anything (she learned her lesson after Emma burnt spaghetti. Who even knew it was possible to do that?). She watches as her brother and his wife wordlessly and seamlessly dish out the food (roasted chicken, salad steamed asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes) onto three plates, quickly whisking around each other in the small kitchen. They’re so in sync it kind of freaks her out sometimes, like they are two humans with one brain.

“So, Emma,” David says immediately after all the dishes are served and the three of them are sat around the table, “what’s new with you?”

Emma looks at him in confusion. They’ve talked on the phone twice in the past week. “Well, um, nothing really that I haven’t already told you.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, voice approaching the designated ‘concerned older brother’ tone.

“I told you about my second single right? I mean, that’s basically all the news in my life right now.”

“So you don’t have a new boyfriend?” Mary Margaret blurts out.

Emma sighs and runs a hand down her face. It’s not like this confrontation is unexpected. She’s pretty sure they’ve set up a Google alert so they can be notified whenever there’s news about her. “No, there’s no new boyfriend.”

“So who was that gorgeous man you were photographed with?” Mary Margaret continues, oblivious (or uncaring) to Emma’s aversion to the topic.

“He’s actually my publicist. Or he was. I think Regina had him fired after those pictures surfaced.”

“That didn’t look like a business meeting,” her brother prods carefully.

“I got a little emotional and he was just trying to comfort me, it was nothing romantic, I swear.”

“That’s probably for the best,” David comments with a mouth full of potatoes. His wife shoots him a look and he course corrects. “I just mean to say I know you’ve had a rough go of it, romantically speaking. And I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you now that you’re on the road to fame. A lot of people are gonna want to ride your coattails, Emma.”

            “I know, I’m really not interested in starting anything now. With anyone. I’m happy being alone,” she insists.

Mary Margaret tilts her head with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know that you should rule it out, though. It might do you some good to let someone in.”

“I’m just protecting myself,” she explains quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with being cautious.”

“That’s true,” her sister-in-law acquiesces with a nod. “But Emma, that wall of yours—it might keep out pain but it may also keep out love.”

“Okay, just to be clear, I am _not_ in love with Killian Jones.”

“Killian? Ooh, that’s a nice name.” Clearly Emma’s not-so-subtle cues to drop the conversation are above Mary Margaret’s head. Though, judging by the discomfort evident on her brother’s face, he is looking for an out as well. Despite not knowing Emma for his whole life, he has really committed to being overly protective of her. Which may be related to meeting her while she was serving time on her boyfriend’s behalf when she was barely a legal adult. “And you may not be in love with him, but judging by the look on his face in that picture, I don’t know if you could say the same thing about him.”

“What did you do, blow up and analyze every pixel on that thing? There’s nothing between us, honestly. I barely know the guy,” she insists. She knows she’s being defensive and that is sort of a lie—she does know him quite intimately, in a biblical sense—but she doesn’t know much about him.

“She sort of did,” David mumbles under his breath as he picks at his vegetables.

“I did not!” she asserts. “But you can’t blame a girl for looking. It’s not as if you’re the most forthcoming person when it comes to your personal life, sweetie.”

“Have you considered the fact that may be because there’s just nothing to tell?” Emma asks her.

“Honey, let’s just drop it,” David says, placing a hand over his wife’s. “Emma, I believe you when you say there’s nothing to tell. But I hope someday if there is, you feel comfortable enough to tell us about it.”

Emma sighs in relief that the conversation appears to be tabled. “Alright, thank you. I will.”

* * *

The rest of dinner proceeds with much less tension than was present in the conversation about Emma’s love life. Emma tells them about how Regina is doing (her manager is an old family friend of Mary Margaret—that’s actually how she got connected in the first place), Mary Margaret talks animatedly about her first grade class, and David listens and nods, adding details his wife has left out of their stories.

Emma insists on dish washing duty, as usual (she feels guilty they always are in charge of hosting and cooking, but her apartment is really not conducive to their traditional dinners), as her hosts set up a movie to watch while passing the time until her interview is on. She joins them on the couch, curling up in one of the large, fluffy blankets Mary Margaret keeps thrown over the side of the sofa just as the movie is starting. It’s some artsy film that has a familiar title. Emma assumes it was an Oscar winner at some point in the recent past. She wiggles around, adjusting herself for maximum comfort and settles in to watch the movie.

“Emma, wake up! You’re walking onstage now!” Mary Margaret exclaims, waking her up.

Considering her disinterest in watching the movie and her exhaustion from the day, she’s really not all that surprised she slept through the whole thing. She yawns and rubs her eyes before frowning at her figure smiling and waving onscreen.

“What’s the matter? You look great!”

Emma shrugs. “It’s weird to see yourself on camera.” She groans when Interview Emma starts talking. “Oh god, I hate my voice.”

“You are a professional singer and you hate your voice? Hate to break it to you, kid, but I think you’re pursuing the wrong career,” David chuckles.

Emma glares at him. “I don’t like my speaking voice. It sounds all nasal and weird,” she complains, scrunching her nose. Mary Margaret aggressively shushes them so she can hear the interview before David can retort anything, and they actually pay attention to the show.

Mary Margaret’s eyes brim with tears as Emma talks about the song she wrote for them in the interview playing on the TV screen and pulls her into a tight hug.

“You knew that song was for you guys,” she says gently, a little overwhelmed by the woman’s reaction.

“Of course I did. You played it for our anniversary this spring. But you just said such kind things about us.” Her voice starts to waver a little at the end and Emma awkwardly comforts her until the wave of emotion passes.

She looks up at her brother who smiles at her softly. _Thank you_ , he mouths at her. She nods in acceptance.

Emma is relieved when the short interview is over; it honestly went pretty well. She didn’t even say or do anything humiliating. She’s happy to see that her song set looks and sounds as good as it felt to perform. She can’t help the smile on her face as she sees how happy she looks onscreen, completely lost in the music. Surprisingly, Mary Margaret holds it together when she sings _Snow Drifts_ , just staring at the television with a prideful smile through the entirety of the song. She can’t say the same for David, but he cries every time she sings, so it’s nothing particularly new.

* * *

At nearly two o’clock in the morning, Emma rolls into the guest bed, checking her phone before she takes off her glasses. She reads the handful of congratulations texts from Ruby, Kristoff, Anna, and Killian, as well as some of the tweets from fans watching. She taps on her message thread with Killian and types a response.

> **E:** _Whoever decided to take “Late Night” so seriously sucks. It is WAY past my bedtime._

Not a minute later he responds.

> **K:** _I’m appalled you are up so late! Don’t you know it is very important that a growing young pop star gets her sleep?_

She giggles at the message which is punctuated with a shocked-looking emoji.

> **E:** _I don’t know that I’ve been offered that particular bit of advice before. So it’s a good thing I have you around to enlighten me._
> 
> **K:** _It’s definitely a good thing. Another helpful life lesson for you: lack of sleep can often lead to over-snarkiness as well._

She smiles rather than rolls her eyes. Why bother putting up an annoyed front when he can’t see her?

> **E:** _It has probably also been said that lack of sleep can lead to poor spelling and grammar. I’m fairly certain ‘snarkiness’ is not a real world._

His reply comes mere moments later.

> **K:** _Right you are, Swan. It would seem we are both in need of a little sleep. Good night._
> 
> **E:** _Good night, Killian._

She sets her phone and her glasses on the bedside table and rolling over. She curls herself into the blankets and tries to tell herself falling asleep with a smile on her face has nothing to do with texting a boy and everything to do with her successful performance today.

  
 


	7. tangled up with you all night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The double line break indicates POV change!

When Robin informed him Emma would be taken off his client list, Killian wasn’t surprised. Hell, he shouldn’t have even been her publicist in the first place, given their complicated history. It was unprofessional of him not to disclose their relationship (or perhaps acquaintance would be a more apt description) to his boss as soon as he realized who she was. But not having her as a client does make his endeavors to win her heart a bit more complicated. How is one supposed to charm a lass without an adequate reason to see her?

He hasn’t seen or heard from Emma in a week—not since she sent him those messages after her _Late Night_ performance. Since he became her publicist, it has not been unusual to go that amount of time without seeing her, but this is different. He’s used to having frequent contact with Emma via email and having scheduled meetings he can look forward to. Now, there’s nothing concrete planned in the near future where he’ll see her radiant smile, and that knowledge is really becoming a distraction for him.

Also, he is well aware that he is apparently going completely insane. Tink has suggested more than once that he see a therapist because it is clearly not normal for one woman to occupy a man’s mind (much less the mind of Killian Jones) this much.

He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his grey wool coat as he heads out of the office for the day, making his way towards The Rabbit Hole for a drink. Killian is convinced there’s nothing quite as dreadful as late October in New York—the sun sets early, it’s dreary, the trees are nearly bare, and it won’t stop misting (just light enough that he can’t use an umbrella without looking like a madman. He’s not but a few steps out the door when he feels his phone vibrate against the hand shoved in his pocket. Pulling it out, he spots Emma’s name on the screen and stops in his tracks, earning him some less than kind mutters from the man walking behind him who almost runs straight into him.

> **E:** _Any way you’re still up that chat you offered?_

He grins stupidly at the screen before hastily tapping out his reply.

> **K:** _It would be bad form to go back on my word. Of course I’m still willing._

A bubble pops up on his screen indicating she’s typing her response. Killian turns around almost immediately, heading towards the nearest subway station when Emma tells him her address.

> **K:** _On my way_. _Are you hungry perchance? I’m just leaving the office now and I’d be happy to pick something up on the way._
> 
> **E:** _You don’t have to bring anything, but I definitely wouldn’t refuse Chinese right about now._

He smiles at her response (though he likely hasn’t stopped smiling since receiving her first message) and heads down into the subway station, checking his phone for the quickest route to get to hers.

Killian arrives at Emma’s flat half an hour later, a large bag filled with food on each arm. He smiles apologetically at her when she opens the door. “I, uh, didn’t know what you preferred to eat, so I just got a carton of all the basics.”

Emma looks at him in surprise but chuckles under her breath. “Apparently there are a lot more basics than I was aware of. Come in,” she says in way of greeting, letting him through the door.

Emma’s flat is small which is no surprise, given the demand for real estate in the city, but it is clean and looks new, or at least newly refinished. “This is quite a nice place you’ve got here, Swan.” Killian turns around to glance at her as she moves about her kitchen and he melts a little at the mere sight of her. He has half a mind to tell her she looks beautiful, but he has found saying that to a woman who is wearing athletic wear rarely (if ever) comes across as sincere, and he doesn’t really want to get into that conversation. Emma reached out to him this time and he’ll be damned if he pushes her away.

She eyes him carefully as if she’s trying to determine whether he’s jesting as she pulls forks out of a drawer and glasses from a cabinet and places them at the breakfast bar. “Thanks, I think. I mean, it’s no giant beachside house with an in-ground pool but I like it.”

“Living closer to the city certainly has its perks. I just prefer the space and the quiet. The sounds of the ocean are relaxing as well.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, what could be more relaxing than the constant sound of taxis honking their horns outside your window?” she quips, leaning to glance at him over her shoulder as she moves about the kitchen. Something in his chest warms at the way her hair flops with the motion, the messy bun on top of her head falling over to one side and _God_ is he in deep.

“You’ve got a point.” He begins pulling out the cartons of food from the bags he brought, lining them up in front of the plates set on the counter.

“Any preference for a drink?” Emma asks over her shoulder, standing on the balls of her feet to reach for her liquor cabinet.

“I’m fine with whatever,” he says, trying not to keep his eyes trained on her backside (the woman must be trying to kill him, what with the spandex running leggings she has on).

After locating a bottle, she pulls out two tumblers and pours a healthy portion of scotch in each of them. She looks up at him from across the countertop. “This work for you?”

He nods and she makes her way over beside him. “I’ve got to say, I’m impressed with your liquor choice, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes with a smirk and sinks into a mocking curtsey. “I aim to please, Mr. Jones.” He eyes her in slight distaste, causing her to laugh. “Hey, if you’re gonna use last names only, two can play at that game.”

“It’s not my fault you have a pleasant surname, _Emma_ ,” he explains as she takes her seat, emphasizing his use of her first name. “I like it. Swan suits you.”

“Thanks, I chose it myself.”

“Did you?” he asks in interest.

She shrugs without looking at him turning the cartons containing their food around so she can read the labels. “Sort of.”

He nods but doesn’t pry. He wagers there is a story there, but one that Emma will share if and when she feels comfortable.

He can tell she’s relieved he doesn’t inquire any further about her early life when he sees her shoulders drop slightly with the relief of tension. She spoons a bit of food from several cartons onto her plate as she adds. “I suppose I could have changed my name to match my brother’s later on. But it didn’t feel like my name, you know?”

“That certainly makes sense. Changing your name is a big deal.” He watches her take a helping from the carton of kung pao chicken.

“It’s also kind of nice this way. Prevents them from being really easily associated with me.”

He picks at the noodles on his plate. “Yes because you’ve got such a terrible reputation and I’m sure they would be absolutely horrified to be associated with you,” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm.

She pokes her tongue out at him. “You know what I mean. It’s bad enough I can’t go out for coffee with someone without having fifteen articles written about it. I want to protect Mary Margaret and David from that any way I can.”

“You must really care about them.”

She nods solemnly. “They’re very good people.”

They sit in amicable silence, picking at their food for a couple of minutes before Killian interrupts her thoughts. “Forgive me if you don’t want to talk about it, love, but you seemed a bit distressed when you contacted me. Though it _was_ just over text message, which can make tone difficult to interpret,” he begins, keeping his tone light. “Is everything alright?”

The way she sighs heavily and finishes her drink before responding tells him the answer makes clear she is very much not alright. “I got a few hate messages on twitter for the first time today. At least, it was the first time I’ve seen them.” She gets up and moves across the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey, refilling her glass and topping his off. “I know it’s not that big of a deal. Every celebrity gets them—though I absolutely _hate_ to refer to myself as celebrity, it feels vain. But still, I have always kind of done my best to stay in the shadows and avoid bothering people my whole life. I finally step out into the light, try to shed my shyness, and I get backlash. It kind of hurts that there are people out there who think I’m such a crappy musician that they need to directly tell me that.” She glances over her shoulder meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking down in shame. “I know it’s not really that big of a deal. But I needed a friend.”

“I’ve never understood what exactly must go wrong with people that makes them decide they should send hateful messages to a perfect stranger,” he says, unable to completely take the edge of anger out of his voice. “You’re right that it happens to everyone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to be upset about it,” he assures her gently. “But it is important to keep in mind that if your music weren’t so popular, this wouldn’t be happening. It’s only because so many thousands of people are listening to and loving your music that people feel they should be too cool to appreciate what is popular among others. I know it doesn’t completely erase the hurt, but it can be good to think about it in perspective.”

“Wow. That was actually really helpful,” she says after a few seconds, raising her eyebrows in obvious surprise.

“Don’t look so astonished, Swan, I told you I’m an excellent listener,” he says.

Her responding giggle is music to his ears, her gloomy mood apparently dissapating. “You may learn about me that I tend to expect the worst from people,” Emma says. “It prevents disappointments.”

His eyebrows knit together. “That it does, but it seems a very lonely way to live. If you expect the worst from everyone, who can you trust?”

She swallows, pondering the question. “I trust my brother and sister-in-law. And Regina, and the people at your firm. You guys all seem to do a pretty decent job taking care of my public image,” she explains the last one.

“Does that mean you trust me?” he inquires.

She examines his face, thinking about the sentiment for a few moments before answering. “I’m not sure. Probably.”

* * *

 

They decide to watch a movie after stuffing themselves with Chinese food near the point of bursting. Emma curls up in the corner of the oversized grey suede couch with a fluffy blanket tucked around her. Killian sits down next to her, careful not to be in her personal space (he still thinks Emma is likely to retreat at the first sign of affection). The room around him disappears from view as Emma tosses a blanket over his head. She giggles as he sits there for a moment before pulling it down off his head and over his legs.

“You’ve got quite the sense of humor, you know. Perhaps you should have considered a career in standup comedy.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious and you know it,” she answers without missing a beat as she scrolls through the Netflix menu on the screen of her television set in front of them.

The side of his mouth quirks up in affection. “Aye, I suppose you’re right. Playing peekaboo is the height of comedy.”

She thrusts the remote into his hands before jumping up off the couch. “You can pick the movie. I forgot popcorn. And our drinks.” They each had a couple of glasses of rum as they ate, but only enough to create a pleasant warm feeling deep in his stomach.

He selects Pirates of the Caribbean as Emma puts the popcorn in the microwave. When the opening scene begins and the soundtrack echoes out of her speakers, she turns and raises an amused eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“What? This is a good movie.”

“Oh, yes, the pirate obsession. Your boat is called the _Jolly Roger_ , isn’t it?” she says with a laugh.

He eyes her sternly. “ _She_ is. I’ll have you know pirates are very cool.”

Emma schools her face into a serious expression as she pours the popcorn into a bowl. “Oh, they definitely are. I meant no offense _Captain_.”

His eyebrow quirks up reflexively. “You probably shouldn’t call me Captain unless you’re prepared to treat me as such.”

Her eyes darken at his tone as she hands him his glass, resuming her spot next to him. “Duly noted,” she says quietly, licking her lips. He swallows hard, trying to keep his mind away from the salacious path they are headed towards.

Emma tucks her blanket around her until it resembles some sort of cocoon. She sits the bowl of popcorn down so it’s held in place by their legs on either side before taking a giant handful from the bowl. Killian silently chuckles as half of her serving ends up cascading down the blanket, completely missing the target of her mouth. She eyes him warily and he turns his head, pointedly focusing on the movie playing on the screen.

“You know, I can kind of see you as a pirate,” she says wistfully. “Roaming the seven seas on a big ship. Dressed all intricately in period clothing.”

“I’m offended, Swan. You really think I would don some ridiculous red coat and fluffy white shirt? I’ll have you know that if I were a pirate captain I’d stick to black leather. It’s a much more authoritative look.”

She smiles at him teasingly and nudges her shoulder against his. “Someone’s a big Jack Sparrow fan.”

Killian shrugs noncommittally. “He’s not bad. But it’s not like I’m infatuated with him or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

“Mhm,” she hums.

“That sounded awfully close to a dismissal.”

“Perhaps it was. You sounded a little quick to correct me. Don’t worry, Killian, I won’t judge you for having a giant thing for Johnny Depp.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Well since apparently I’m not able to negate your arguments, fine. Think what you like.” He faces towards the television, watching the movie with a scowl.

“Hey,” Emma says with a chuckle, placing her hand reassuringly on his. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s totally fine that you are a grown man who has a bit of a pirate fantasy. I used to imagine that someday my birth parents would show up, tell me I was a princess and whisk me off to their grand castle. Of course, that stopped when I was about twelve, but…”

“The pirate and the princess? We’d make quite the team,” he points out.

Emma rolls her eyes, gathers the popcorn bowl into her lap (she seems to have picked up that he’s still full from the massive amounts of Chinese they consumed) and settles back into the couch. He can’t help but notice she’s infinitesimally closer to him that she was prior. He smiles and relaxes, turning his attention towards the movie yet again.

 

* * *

 

* * *

About an hour into the movie, they have made a bit of a dent in the bottle of rum sitting beside Emma on the coffee table. She’s not drunk by any means, but her chest is warm and her face is flushed and she feels more relaxed than she has in a while. Somewhere along the way (she’s not exactly sure when), her head found its way onto Killian’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around hers. Emma is vaguely aware their position is a little too comfortable for friends, probably, but he’s warm and smells nice and it feels good, so she tries not to think anything of their closeness.

“So, _Swan_ ,” Killian says pointedly, his accent thick with the liquor, “where did the name ‘Swan’ come from anyway?”

“Are you asking me if I chose my name based on Elizabeth Swann? Because I think we have established that _you_ are the one with the pirate obsession, not me.”

He chuckles lowly and runs his fingertips across her shoulder. “No, I wasn’t trying to ask if you named yourself after a movie character. I was just pondering the name. Did you choose it to distance yourself from your family?”

“No, actually Swan is my legal name. Has been since I was a baby. I was adopted by the Swan family when I was one. Although a few years after that, the mom got pregnant. And with their miracle baby, they couldn’t take care of me anymore. So I returned to being a ward of the state.” She’s not usually this forthcoming with personal details and can’t help but wonder whether this new openness is a side effect of Killian’s closeness or the alcohol coursing through her veins.

It’s probably a combination of the two.

His hand stills on her shoulder and he squeezes her gently in a sort of tiny side-hug. She winces—part of the reason she’s not so big on sharing is the inevitable onslaught of pity from whoever she talks to. She has spent enough time feeling bad for herself in the past. She’s over it, and doesn’t really want to deal with other people feeling bad for her anymore, either.

“Did you meet David soon after that?” he asks, not apologizing or changing the way he speaks to her (which is a huge relief).

She shakes her head even though his eyes are still turned towards the television screen. “I had a closed adoption, so I wasn’t notified until I turned eighteen that I had a relative who wanted to get in touch with me. After a couple of months, my curiosity got the better of me, so I sent David a letter. He was ecstatic to hear from me and offered to fly out to Atlanta where I was living at the time to meet me.

“That honestly freaked me out a little,” she admits with a smirk. “I was used to being on my own and the thought of someone jumping in and trying to be my family or whatever kind of put me off. But David was persistent. So I agreed, expecting to never hear from him again after our first meeting. Although clearly that was not the case.”

Killian smiles at her. “He sounds like a good guy.”

She nods in agreement. “The best one I’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. I stubbornly refused his offer to buy me a plane ticket to come visit him for a couple months, but I’m glad I gave in.” Emma smiles thinking of her first time meeting Ruth Nolan, who had insisted Emma move up to Maine, saying she could easily find her a job and an inexpensive place to live within hours of making her acquaintance. “Unlike me, David landed with a pretty solid adoptive family. His mom was great. She said David’s family was her family and helped me relocate. And then I met his girlfriend, who has become one of my very best friends. I was actually the maid of honor in their wedding last year.”

He rests his cheek against the top of her head. “It seems to me you deserved a wonderful family all along. It just didn’t catch up to you early enough.”

Emma blanches for a moment. “I don’t tell people this. Why am I telling you this?”

He pulls back to look her straight in the eye. “No need to worry, love. Your story is safe with me. I’m honored to know more about your beginnings.”

She gulps at his words, her alarm bells breaking through the light fog in her head. She reasons kicking him out now, halfway through their movie and a little bit buzzed, would not be the best course of action so she just nods and takes a large sip from her glass. “What about you? What’s your story?”

He takes a deep breath before beginning. “Nothing particularly interesting. Grew up in Ireland until my mother passed away when I was seven. Then we moved to England for four years, until one day when my father never came home from work,” he says nonchalantly. “Then I moved back to Ireland with my brother Liam and his wife Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma asks.

He smirks at her. “Her real name is Nicole. I don’t know the exact story behind it, but she and Liam went to primary school together. He started using the nickname when they were kids and it just stuck. Everyone calls her Tink now.”

“Do they live nearby?”

“Sort of. Tink lives in Brooklyn above an art gallery. Liam died a few years back, though.”

“God, Killian, I’m sorry for bringing it up. That must be hard.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but Emma notices the tightening around his eyes and the way his throat bobs, challenging his feigned indifference. “It’s alright, you couldn’t have known.”

Emma can’t help but wonder what’s harder: growing up with a family and losing everyone or growing up with no family at all.

* * *

Emma groans and stretches out her neck, which seems to have aged thirty years overnight. She squints in the early morning light and finds herself in the living room, which isn’t all that weird. She’s fallen asleep out here plenty of times. What’s unusual, though, is the solid, warm chest beneath her head. Somewhere during movie number two, she and Killian must have dozed off. _Shit_ , she thinks. Sleeping with him was the last thing she intended when she invited him over the previous night. Although, _technically_ she hadn’t been thinking about this kind of sleeping when she resolved not to take him to bed with her.

Her head is a little achy from the amount of scotch she put away, so she carefully removes her arms from around his torso (embarrassing) and pads over to her kitchen to get a glass of water and some Aleve. She downs the glass and a couple of pills before going to the bathroom and brushing her teeth.

“Morning,” Killian groans when she walks out of the bathroom.

She winces. “Morning. Apparently we fell asleep last night.”

He cracks a smile as he stretches his arms high over his head (she avoids glancing down at the exposed skin below his riding up shirt). “Aye, it would seem so. Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re fine. We both passed out so it’s not like it’s your fault or anything,” she stammers.

“Would you happen to know what time it is?”

Emma glances clock on her microwave. “6:40.”

He groans. “Wonderful. I don’t mean to seem too eager to make a hasty retreat, but I should probably head to Tink’s place before work. I have some spare dress pants and shirts at her place, and I’d really prefer to avoid questions about the reason I’m wearing the same outfit as yesterday, only crumpled.”

Emma smirks. “That is a perfectly acceptable explanation.” She walks him to the door and they linger there awkwardly for a moment. “I had fun last night,” she admits shyly. “We should do it again sometime. But perhaps without sleeping together.”

“I don’t know darling, but I’ve certainly enjoyed sleeping together in the past,” he retorts quickly.

She rolls her eyes and playfully shoves him out the door. “I suppose I set myself up for that one. Goodbye, Killian.”

“Bye, love. Have a good day,” he says with a bright smile before turning towards the elevator.

Emma heads back to the bathroom and takes a burning hot shower to try and ease the knots that have formed from her night sleeping in an awkward position on the sofa. Her shower isn’t too long—she’s always careful not to use up all the hot water, because she is not a shitty roommate. After massaging lotion into the muscles of her neck and shoulders, she wraps herself in her fluffy blue robe and exits the bathroom to find Elsa sitting at the kitchen island smirking at her.

“What?” she demands.

Her roommate shrugs nonchalantly, taking a long sip from her coffee cup. “Oh nothing. Have a fun night last night?”

Emma closes her eyes and rubs at her forehead. “What did you see?” she groans.

Elsa perks up at that. “I just saw you and Mr. Obscenely Gorgeous snuggled up on the couch, asleep,” she says. “Why, was there something else to see?!”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s it I suppose. Ugh, I did _not_ mean for that to happen.”

“What’s the big deal? You looked really peaceful and comfortable.”

“He’s been trying to… start things between us since we met up again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?” Elsa asks. “Was that _not_ a ‘thing’ last night? How do you know him? Tell me everything.”

“You’re starting to sound like your sister,” Emma notes in surprise. Her roommate has always been quiet and reserved. This display of eager excitement about her personal life is much more like Anna.

Elsa rolls her eyes. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me the story.”

She chews on her lip as she grabs a mug and fills it up from the coffee pot. “Okay,” she sighs before divulging the details. “So you know that weekend back in August? When I was gone for a couple nights?”

Her eyes widen. “That was him?”

She nods in confirmation, chewing on her bottom lip. “I sort of… had a one night stand with Killian back then. Or two nights, I guess.”

“You said you met him again though?”

“Right. So it turns out he’s actually my publicist,” Emma admits with a wince.

Her roommate huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish,” she groans. “So yeah. He’s my publicist. Or he was, anyway. I got switched last week after I told Regina that we _knew_ each other. But I told him I wanted our relationship to remain strictly professional, and he basically told me he would prefer if it _didn’t_. But thankfully he was more than adequate when it came to doing his job. In work settings, he never once did anything that made me uncomfortable.”

Elsa nods, looking impressed. “That’s good.”

Emma agrees, “It definitely is. I’ve also spent a little bit of time with him outside of work, though. He’s been a good friend. It helps that he kind of sees people through this for a living, so he’s able to actually understand what I’m going through.”

“You like him.” A statement, not a question.

“No,” Emma says too quickly. Her internal lie detector is going off based on something _she_ said, which is a first. “Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what my feelings are.”

“Of course it does, Emma,” her roommate says softly, tilting her head to the side. “You said he’s no longer your publicist, right? From what you’ve told me, he’s clearly got feelings for you, he’s kind, respectful, and I saw for myself he’s goddamn beautiful.” Emma chokes out a laugh. “If you have feelings for him, what’s the issue?”

Emma gulps as she is hit by an onslaught of traumatic memories. Foster parents returning her like a shirt that doesn’t fit. Neal’s sudden departure and her subsequent arrest. Graham dropping dead of a heart attack right in front of her. “I don’t do relationships. I can’t.”

“A bad track record doesn’t mean there’s not a chance for future successes. Everyone has unsuccessful relationships. If they didn’t, everyone would marry the first person they meet. I for one am glad that’s not the case—you should have _seen_ the guy Anna was engaged to before Kristoff. He was all but embezzling from our family. It was messy.”

“There’s a difference between unsuccessful relationships and being a recipe for disaster,” Emma says. “My first boyfriend called in a tip that I had a bunch of stolen watches in the trunk of my car. Granted, it was true. He just lied to the cops about who put them there.”

Elsa’s eyebrows raise. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah. Thankfully, my brother sprang for a good lawyer who got me acquitted and I didn’t see any jail time. Which is especially good, considering I didn’t commit the crime. And then the next guy I dated fucking _died_ while we were together. I’m not really willing to continue this pattern.”

“You don’t think Killian would do anything to hurt you, do you?” Elsa asks.

Emma ponders it for a moment and shrugs. “No, not really. He hasn’t let me down this far. But who knows, he may grow tired of me. And if not, something could still happen to him because apparently I’m jinxed.”

“I hate to break it to you, but if you’re talking yourself out of being with him because you don’t want _him_ to get hurt, you have feelings for him.”

She shakes her head again, because being stubbornly, stupidly in denial is her thing. Elsa seems to take the hint that their conversation is over (bless her roommate for her ability to take social cues) and clears her throat. “Just something to think about. You deserve to be happy.” Emma doesn’t look up as Elsa makes her way down the hall, but she hears the bathroom door shut and the shower turn on.

She slumps against the counter and groans. That conversation was the very last thing she needed right now. Her track record with relationships is disastrous at best. And now that she’s in the public eye, if she so much as goes out on a date, TMZ will alert everyone in their power of the ‘budding romance’ and there will probably be several slideshows on _E!_ Online and a couple articles about it on Buzzfeed. It would be one thing if she were in a happy, healthy relationship and had press like that. But the thought of a new thing being covered like that is terrifying, especially because any subsequent fallout would also receive plenty of attention.

She heads into her room and gets ready for the day, blow-drying her hair and dressing herself in a long-sleeved black shirt and running tights. She has a meeting with Regina later that afternoon, but with nothing to do until then, she might as well go to the gym. Maybe the exercise can help clear her head.

 

 


	8. burning it down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was planning on posting this tomorrow, but I am incredibly bored at work right now, so you get this early. Feedback would be much appreciated--I need something to occupy the next two and a half hours I'm here.

Emma arrives to Serendipity exactly four minutes early for her lunch reservation with Jefferson. When she walks through the tiny entrance into the eclectic, cluttered interior, she almost wonders if the location of their meeting is supposed to be some kind of joke; the little general store selling small knick-knacks  The Mad Hatter, as Jefferson is more widely known, is huge in the EDM scene these days. Emma just about screamed when Robin called her alerting her the DJ was interested in doing a song with her—it seems like the guy cranks out hit after hit with no exceptions, which means this opportunity could be great for her career. It is a little weird to preface this business partnership with an informal lunch outing, but Jefferson said he wanted to get to know Emma as a person before getting down to work. And it’s not like she’s gonna protest going out for lunch, especially when it can lead to an opportunity to make some music in a genre she hasn’t explored yet.

Emma checks in with the maître d’ and is promptly seated at their reserved table. She sits and anxiously scrolls through her phone for a couple minutes before Jefferson comes bounding in the room. “Emma! So nice to make your acquaintance,” he bellows joyfully, pulling her into a hug.

She freezes for a second in surprise before returning his embrace. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she answers with a smile. The man is outwardly friendlier than anyone she’s met in the industry thus far, so much so that it’s almost unsettling. However, once she gets used to his bright, almost manic demeanor, the lunch is kind of fun. Jefferson (who apparently spends a lot of time in the restaurant) gives her his opinion on every item on the menu. When Emma mentions she’s a big fan of chocolate, he declares that she _has_ to try their Frozen Hot Chocolate because it is ‘legendary’ and immediately flags down a waiter to order the dessert (even though they haven’t yet ordered their meals).

He asks her about her favorite places in the city and listens enthusiastically, giving her a long list of different restaurants, bars, boutiques and other venues she just _has_ to visit. As far as business lunches go, this is hands down the most relaxed and at-ease Emma has ever felt. Although, seeing as Jefferson doesn’t actually mention anything about recording a song together, it probably doesn’t count as a business lunch. By the end of the meal, Emma is laughing so hard she’s almost in tears as he eagerly lists his favorite songs of hers, even doing a rather impressive imitation of a couple of her songs. Despite being on the producing side of the industry rather the singing side, the man has a pretty impressive falsetto.

He insists on covering the bill and the two of them exchange personal contact information, just in case. “I’ll have my people call your people about the official stuff. Once that’s all figured out and documented and whatnot, I’ll send you the ideas I have for the song so far so you can tell me what you think,” he explains.

Emma smiles genuinely as they walk out of the establishment together to get in the town car he called for (after insisting it was only fair that he drop her off wherever she needs to go). The moment the two of them walk outside, the bright smile fades from her face and she feels her stomach drop. There’s not many, but the damage is done; three men hiding behind giant cameras call their names as the lights above their heads flash. Jefferson wraps his hand around her wrist and gently tugs her towards the waiting town car—a gesture she’s very grateful for; even though it’s nowhere near dark outside so the lights aren’t blinding, Emma still finds herself paralyzed with fear when rude people with cameras jump in her face and ask her all sorts of personal questions. It’s one thing when it’s at an event and she’s expecting it—that she can handle. But she is not yet used to being bombarded while leaving a restaurant, or out getting coffee.

Regina says the paparazzi are a lot worse in LA than they are in New York, which makes Emma eternally grateful to be situated on the east coast. As a kid, she always prided herself on blending into the background when she wasn’t onstage. A lot of people don’t understand how she can have no problem at all with stage fright and then panic when she receives too much attention in public. She understands that point of view, but for her at least, being on stage is different. She’s not quite herself, she’s something bigger and stronger. She’s performing. Not to mention, people in the audience are kind, cheering for her, and not _on top_ of her. And it’s in a controlled setting. It’s not like she hops onstage immediately after leaving the gym, sweaty and bare of makeup.

Although she hasn’t grown used to having fans recognize her, Emma has become a lot more comfortable with that type of impromptu encounter. Having a couple of teenagers come up to her shyly telling her they’re big fans and asking for a picture with her melts her heart. And so far, people who talk to her in public are nothing but kind.

Emma takes a deep sigh of relief once she and Jeff are safely locked inside the car, dark-tinted windows preventing the photographers from getting too much. “You okay, kid?” the man beside her asks. “You look a little pale.”

She nods, unscrewing the cap off the bottle of water she keeps stashed in her purse and taking a long drink. “Yeah, I’m fine. Still getting used to the paparazzi, I guess.”

“You never really get used to them,” he says with a sympathetic smile. “But you do learn to run like hell when you see a camera. I swear I had some sort of PTSD melt down last time I did a photoshoot. The bright lights stunned me into a panic.”

Emma laughs genuinely, imagining the eccentric man taking out the professional photographer with a folding chair. His comment does the trick; Emma feels a bit of tension release from the back of her neck.

“There we go, the color is coming back into your face,” Jefferson observes. (Emma’s pretty sure she blushes under his scrutinizing gaze, making his comment an understatement). He turns away from her and begins scrolling through his iPhone before continuing. “Not to burst your bubble, but you should probably know: there’s going to be about twenty headlines that we’re dating in the next twelve hours.”

Emma groans as her head lands against the leather head rest with a thud. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

He shrugs. “You’re new in the game. You may want to give your publicist a heads up of the situation, though. In case he wants to answer any of the media outlets that will contact him.”

Emma stiffens. She hadn’t even bothered to think about the fact that the world knowing about her romantic life (even if it’s not real) means Killian will _definitely_ know. Even though he’s no longer her publicist, he still works closely with both Robin and Regina and spends a lot of time combing through celebrity news for his clients. The realization that he’ll be notified she is ‘dating’ almost makes her feel guilty, which is completely ridiculous; it’s not as if the two of them are dating or anything (she has made very sure of that). She knows Killian has some sort of feelings for her, and there’s definitely chemistry between the two of them, and maybe if the situation were different—if he wasn’t almost sort of working for her, she were less damaged and they both had more privacy—they could maybe have a real go at things. But the opposite is true, and her career is just starting. She doesn’t really want to drag a relationship into things. She definitely has enough on her plate right now.

“You’re right,” she says, pulling her phone out of her bag and drafting a quick email to Robin and Regina. She tells them the meeting was great and they’ve decided to officially move forward, mentioning the paparazzi outside the restaurant and the potential need for damage control.

Emma and Jefferson sit in the car in silence as they drive to her apartment building. The silent drive does nothing to prevent her thoughts from straying to Killian and how he’ll handle the situation. She knows how Neal would handle it; her ex would have gotten pissed and yelled at her for not thinking about the consequences of her actions (a topic she heard plenty about when they were together), which is almost ironic for someone who wound up in prison after one too many shoplifting charges and framing Emma for his crimes.

Emma reasons that other than possibly hurting him, nothing bad will happen to her simply because she’s photographed with someone else. Killian isn’t even in charge of her public image anymore. And he’s definitely not Neal. This man is level headed, he’s her _friend_ , and it could cost him his job if he did anything drastic to ruin her life—which doesn’t seem like that weird of a thing to think about when her ex planted stolen goods in the trunk of her bug for no damn good reason. Killian is more mature than that. From what she’s seen, anyway.

When they arrive at her place in Brooklyn, Jefferson’s eyes betray his surprise at the lack of grandeur, but he gracefully says nothing about the topic, which is a relief. “I’ll have my manager fax papers over to yours for you to sign and we can get started on this,” he says. “I’m really excited to work with you.”

“Thanks, I am too. You’ll send me stuff when contracts are written up and everything?” she asks as she gathers her stuff into her bag and pulls her trench coat a little bit tighter around herself.

“Yep! You’ll be hearing from me soon. Nice to meet you, Emma!” he calls as the door of the car shuts.

Emma quickly makes her way into her building to the elevators, wanting nothing more than to curl up on her couch with some hot cocoa (she’s not quite sure why she agreed to a frozen version of her favorite drink when it’s unusually chilly for autumn in New York) and a movie. After changing out of her dress into some sweats and a t-shirt, she starts to get out her favorite mix, some milk, and cinnamon before being interrupted by her phone ringing.

She takes a deep breath when she sees the screen says Locksley & Gold, thinking Killian is on the other line. “Hi,” she answers tentatively.

“Emma, glad to hear your meeting with The Mad Hatter went well! Is now an okay time for you to talk?” Robin greets her.

_Of course it’s Robin_ , she thinks. Over the past couple of months, she’s grown used to these calls from Killian. But he doesn’t really have any reason to call her up now. Besides, last time they spoke, he made it sound like the ball was in her court. “Yeah, I just got home,” she says.

“Excellent! So as you’ve seen, dating rumors are a big part of being in the spotlight. It’s really nothing to worry about. If anyone calls for a statement, I’ll deny the two of you are involved, of course. But TMZ and Perez Hilton will probably just publish the story anyway, declining to mention that they have heard anything to the contrary. The fact of the matter is, people are curious about Hatter and they’re curious about you now, too. Romance sells.”

“So we’re not going to put out a statement that the rumors aren’t true or anything?” Emma asks.

“No, it’s honestly more trouble than it’s worth. The fire will die down if it’s not fed any new connections between the two of you,” her publicist explains.

She sighs in exasperation. “But we’re going to be recording a new song together. There _will_ be new connections.”

“Just stick it out, Emma. Romance rumors, if anything, will draw curiosity about the song. The Mad Hatter is already very high-profile. The extra talk surrounding the two of you could very likely make this your biggest single yet, once it’s released.”

“So basically you’re saying it’s no big deal and there’s nothing to be done?” she asks resignedly.

“Sorry to disappoint. Also, I would advise against posting anything direct on social media. It can look petty. It’s better to appear like you’re above the gossip or that you don’t even see it.”

“So you’re saying I can say something indirect, then?”

Robin laughs. “You can. But just remember than anything you tweet or Instagram or post on Facebook _will_ be seen by many. No matter how fast you delete it. So if you wanna say something witty, go right ahead, but make sure you’re okay with it being seen.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it. Thank you, Robin.”

“Anytime. I’m sure we will talk again shortly. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Bye!”

Robin’s complete lack of worry about the situation calms her down quite a bit. Being seen with another celebrity is significantly bigger news than it is with an unknown person, so she figures the stir around this won’t die down nearly as fast as the pictures of her and Killian getting coffee. But if it could help her career and consequently open more doors for her, she will just need to toughen up.

* * *

* * *

 

> **E:** _So apparently now I can no longer spend time with anyone of the opposite sex._

Killian smirks at his phone. He’s completely unsurprised Emma is frustrated about being seen with the Hatter lad.

> **K:** _Is this you coming out of the closet? Because if so, I fully support you. Though I am disappointed I’ll never get another shot at you._

Emma sends him an emoji that looks like it’s tiredly glaring at him in response.

> **K:** _That’s a no then_
> 
> **E:** _Obviously I’m not gay. Though if you were to leak a story that I play for the other team now, I wouldn’t object._
> 
> **K:** _Your use of male pronouns in many of your songs may be the death of that story. Never mind that it would mean you’d no longer be able to be seen with any woman._
> 
> **E:** _Why do you always have to burst my bubble?_
> 
> **K:** _Because you’re just so cute when you’re angry, love._

He expects it when Emma doesn’t answer right away, but he wasn’t lying. She is bloody intriguing when she’s angry. Or happy. Or anything, really. He nearly swooned at the photographs of her out and about that surfaced a few days prior, high heels accenting the long lines of her legs.

The sight of her hand in another man’s is significantly less appealing. But Emma Swan is not his to be jealous over, nor would she take kindly to his feelings on the matter.

> **E:** _Frankly that’s insulting. And you won’t be able to say that any longer when I punch you in the face._
> 
> **K:** _Is that a challenge? Because I’m sure there are plenty of men in the world who would line up to be punched in the face by the likes of Emma Swan._
> 
> **E:** _Not a challenge. A threat. There’s a difference._
> 
> **E:** _AKA I’m not looking for you to challenge it._
> 
> **K:** _Duly noted._

He tries not to grin like an idiot for the rest of the afternoon, which proves to be a truly difficult feat. Their banter in person is immensely enjoyable; Emma’s sharp wit and dry comments are a perfect match for his sense of humor. But Killian is very impressed they are even able to keep it up over texting. He’s always sort of loathed the method of communication because you lose so much without a person’s expression, posture, and the intonation of their voice. But his daily mobile verbal sparring with the lovely Emma Swan has made him warm up to text messages. 

* * *

* * *

Since the night Killian had accidentally slept over at Emma’s apartment two weeks ago, they’ve picked up a sort of precarious friendship (precarious because even though he’s not pressuring her into anything, Emma is well aware that he would prefer they take their friendship to the next level). When she complains to him that she is having a rough day, he spams her phone with stupid memes to try and make her laugh—although she is _very_ over Grumpy Cat, and they usually just make her groan. But even so, the messages do tend to lighten her mood a little bit.

One day in late October, Emma goes out for brunch with Mary Margaret, who has a day off work between quarters of the school year. Her phone buzzes every ten minutes or so with text messages, which Emma ignores; she doesn’t need Mary Margaret interrogating her about who she’s talking to. She just assured the woman she wasn’t involved with Killian after those pictures surfaced, and she knows better than to think she can text him through brunch without her sister-in-law assuming and insisting they must be dating.

“Emma, I really don’t mind if you need to get that,” Mary Margaret insists after her phone buzzes once again. “I know you’re crazy busy, especially considering how soon your album is coming out. I promise I won’t be offended if you need to call someone.”

Emma switches her phone into _Do Not Disturb_ mode, effectively shutting it up. “It’s nothing, really. Ruby’s just bored at work and is demanding my attention,” she lies smoothly. “And I told you, I’m actually not busy today—I have a scheduled day off. Regina is strict in all aspects of my career it seems, including my mental health.”

“Emma, that is a good thing. You’ve seen plenty of musicians and actors get thrown into drugs and partying. It’s excellent your manager wants to make sure you aren’t overworked.”

She smiles at her sister in law as she takes a sip of her hot cocoa. “Well, you did set me up with her. I’d be shocked if she weren’t the best of the best.”

When Emma moved to Maine and got a job at the local sheriff station, Mary Margaret and David had encouraged her to pursue music as a career. At first, Emma brushed off their suggestions. She was content spending her time tracking down bail skippers—which was surprisingly lucrative—and performing in coffee shops or small jazz clubs every once in a while. She often wondered if she was actually talented enough to make it in such a competitive industry, what it would be like to have access to good recording equipment whenever she wanted, and if people on a large scale would like her music as much as small venues seemed to. But Emma had had enough disappointments in her life. She had been plenty happy just staying where she was. Mary Margaret and David backed off and didn’t pressure her into seeking out representation for a few years, allowing her to make her own decisions. That changed when David and his then fiancée talked her into attending Thanksgiving with them at Mary Margaret’s parent’s house a month after she turned twenty-one.

Leo and Eva Blanchard lived in a giant colonial-style farmhouse in Dover, Massachusetts. Emma knew Mary Margaret’s father was a senator, and David had mentioned in passing that his fiancée came from old money, but Emma had never paid it any mind. Mary Margaret, despite her less than humble beginnings, was not the least bit materialistic. She was content with her first grade teacher salary, repurposing furniture from thrift stores single-handedly, and buying all her clothes at markdown stores like Marshall’s. So, despite knowing that her sister-in-law’s parents were well-off, Emma had never considered the possibility she grew up in a giant, gorgeous house in the kind of community where people probably had summer homes in the Hamptons and attended horse races for entertainment.

The Blanchards, despite their wealth, were surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, if you consider the daughter they raised) kind to Emma, welcoming her into their home with warm smiles. They told Emma they had heard many good things about her from their daughter and that they were happy to meet her. Emma had been ridiculously relieved upon meeting them that she wasn’t spending the long weekend with a bunch of stuffy old rich people.

Thanksgiving brought Mary Margaret’s small extended family as well as some good family friends (many of whom were in politics) to the Blanchards’ house. Mary Margaret made sure Emma wasn’t left alone with any strangers the entire afternoon, which she was eternally grateful for, as she had approximately nothing in common with many of the people there. Emma didn’t think anything of all the introductions until Mary Margaret introduced her to her friend Regina. Once she pointedly mentioned the woman worked in show business as a manager, Emma realized she had been set up.

Regina had asked Emma about singing, mentioning that Mary Margaret (the traitor) had gone on and on about how talented she was. After a couple glasses of wine, Emma agreed to send Regina her demo, which she had recorded for the purpose of selling after she played small gigs. After she returned home to Boston after the holiday, Mary Margaret insisted it would be rude to _not_ send Regina her work after telling her she would and persuaded Emma into sending her CD in.

Soon after, Regina had called and requested Emma travel into the city to meet up with her. She encouraged Emma to record a professional demo, and offered to help send it into some companies to see if she could secure a record deal. Emma thought back to what David, Mary Margaret, Kristoff (who she had contacted immediately after hearing from Regina, wanting his advice about the industry he grew up in), and the many patrons at her small shows had told her. After some deliberation, she had agreed, and from there, her career had taken off. She spent a year writing and recording _Dreams_ and now here she is, about to release her first studio album all thanks to her sister-in-law’s meddling.

Mary Margaret smiles at Emma. “I know you were annoyed with me at the time, but you have to admit, my intervening has worked out well so far.”

Emma laughs. “It has. I don’t know if I ever did thank you for that.”

“You don’t need to thank me, sweetie,” she says, placing a hand over Emma’s. “Your happiness is all the thanks I need.”

* * *

On her way home from brunch, Emma scrolls through the ten messages Killian had sent her, complaining about his boredom and telling her she needed to entertain him.

> **K:** _I have it on good authority, you have the day off, Swan. Why not come spend it in your publicist’s office? You can come entertain me as I sit here answering emails for hours on end._

Emma orders him a singing gram instead.

A few hours later, her phone rings. She laughs when she sees his number. “Emma Swan,” she answers her phone sweetly.

“You have a sick sense of humor, Swan,” he grumbles.

 “What, you didn’t like the singing gram? I thought you would _love_ a giant bear coming into your office and interrupting your day.”

“It would have perhaps been more enjoyable had the bear-man not come in during a meeting. Locksley insisted the man perform for the whole lot of us.”

Emma laughs at the thought of Killian with his red-tipped ears being serenaded by some man wearing a teddy bear suit in the middle of a business meeting. “Maybe I should’ve dropped by your office. I’m sad I missed that.”

She can practically hear him roll his eyes over the line. “What are you doing now?” he asks.

“I’m just hanging out at home. Wanna come over? I’m binge watching Harry Potter movies. I’m not so good at this time off thing.”

He chuckles. “Sure, I’ll be on my way.”

They spend the evening watching the third, fourth and fifth Harry Potter movies. Emma asks Killian at least three times whether or not he’s ever been to Hogwarts.

“You do realize it is a fictional place that does not exist outside of books, movies, and Universal Studios Orlando, right?”

“They had to film somewhere,” she insists, tapping him on the nose (she’s made a decent dent in the twelve pack of Guinness Killian brought with him).

He snatches her hand away from his face and brings it down between them. “That doesn’t mean there is an actual castle. I imagine they used locations all over the UK to film the movies.”

Emma notices the way her hand is still in his but doesn’t say anything. “Why do you always have to burst my bubble,” she whines with a pout.

“Don’t you know, love? I am no fun at all. I have to make sure everyone around me has no fun with me.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back towards the screen, letting her head fall on his shoulder. “Whatever,” she murmurs, “you’re plenty of fun. Sometimes. I mean, we are watching movies about wizards and getting drunk. I don’t really know what would be more fun than this.”

Emma smiles and relaxes into his side as he chuckles low in his chest and slings an arm around her shoulder. In some corner of her mind, she realizes this is a really bad idea. She knows the man is shy—he’s mentioned multiple times he isn’t too ‘keen’ on being the center of attention—and being followed by strangers with cameras has sort of become her life. She can’t develop real feelings for him, not now, no matter how much his laugh makes her stomach flutter or how much his stupid text messages brighten her day when she’s stressed. At this point, she’s not sure if she can keep trying to convince herself that she wants nothing more than friendship between them. But despite maybe, sort of, _possibly_ having feelings for him, she knows if she were to try to be more than friends with Killian and somehow didn’t screw it up, Killian would surely grow to dread being followed and photographed all the time and leave her.

She blinks rapidly, trying to rid herself of her stupid, rational thoughts. Emma spends so much time worrying about how she portrays herself, what she should or shouldn’t do. She’s tired. Maybe it’s not the best idea to be curled into Killian’s shoulder right now, but she’s comfortable, he’s warm and smells amazing, and she is past the point of stopping herself from being happy. At least for tonight. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: Serendipity is great and so is their frozen hot chocolate.
> 
> Also, I have links to the engagment party venue from chapter one, Killian's house, and MM's parents' house if anyone is interested in seeing those :P


	9. someday when you leave me

Killian loves having a friend like Emma.

It may be more accurate to say he is falling in love _with_ Emma, but that’s beside the point. She has made it clear that she doesn’t want, or at least isn’t comfortable enough, to pursue a relationship with him. So he backs off with the flirtatious jokes. A man can only be turned down by a lass so many times before it bruises his ego. For Killian Jones, this is no minor feat. He’s good at telling when a woman is playing hard to get, so he does not have a history of persisting after a lass’s affections when they are unwanted.

He knows there’s an attraction between the two of them—it’s been a couple of months, but every moment of their first weekend together is still seared into his brain—and they definitely work as friends. The combination of those two aspects makes for an excellent foundation for a good relationship. At least, that is what he thought. But with Emma, things seem a bit more complicated.

As much as he tries to ignore it, the spark between Emma and him is still present. Whenever he spends time with her, he is very conscious not to drink too much. A momentary lapse in his self-control (which would undoubtedly lead to him kissing her for all she’s worth at the very least) is all it would take to crumble their friendship entirely. It’s been awhile since he’s been close to a woman in any sense other than Tink, and he genuinely does enjoy being friends with Emma. Being around her calms him. Her laughter is music to his ears, almost more beautiful than her actual singing.

He notices Emma’s very careful way of keeping their interactions out of the paparazzi’s view, and he’s grateful for the privacy, partly. Though, part of him wants to be her date for all of her public appearances, be able to hold her hand in the street, and just be _done_ with the ‘just friends’ charade they have going on.

She calls him early in the morning on the first Saturday in November from her brother’s house and demands that he give her an excuse to leave.

“I gave Mary Margaret an early copy of my album last night. I woke up to her playing it and singing along to all the songs she knows this morning. Now she won’t stop blasting my album and wants me to sing with her. It’s freaking me out,” she rattles off when he answers the phone, not pausing to say hello. Surely enough, he can hear the faint sounds of music playing in the background on her end of the call.

“I think it’s wonderful your family is so supportive of your career,” he says with a smile, knowing his optimism will annoy her. “Would you rather she hate your music and awkwardly give you half-hearted compliments?”

She groans. “I guess not. But I really could do without a constant reminder that my album release date is quickly approaching. There’s a lot of chatter about it, and it’s driving me crazy. I had a nightmare last night that it sold ten copies in the US and I ended up earning no money from it. I had to sell a kidney on the black market to pay off the debts I have from recording.”

“Good god, Swan, that sounds horrible. I’m positive your album will not do poorly. The fact there is a lot of hype about it guarantees it will sell. Once people do get a chance to hear your music, they’ll surely fall in love with it. Then those albums will be flying off the digital shelves.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re as infuriatingly optimistic about all this as my sister-in-law.” He hears an unmistakably male voice begin singing along to the music playing. Emma groans. “And apparently David is just as bad as she is.”

He laughs. “Well if you truly need saving, you’re welcome to come to my place in Long Beach. I’m taking the _Jolly_ out for one last hurrah before stowing her away for the winter.”

“It’s not even sixty degrees, isn’t that a little cold for sailing?”

“It is,” he agrees, “which is why I would recommend dressing warmly.” His thoughts flash to the last time Emma went sailing with him, basking in the sunshine in nothing but her knickers. He quickly tries to dismiss those thoughts.

She sighs. “Fine. I’m coming over.”

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

“No, I have my car here, so I’ll drive. I haven’t had a chance to do much driving lately.”

“Alright, I will see you soon then,” he says, though it comes out more like a question.

“You will,” she confirms. “I’ll be over in a couple of hours. Bye!”

Killian takes a long, hot shower to pass the time before Emma comes over, in part because he can’t keep the memories of her lightly tanned skin exposed before his eyes on the _Jolly Roger_. And in his pool. And his bed.

This woman is driving him crazy. And if he weren’t so smitten with her, he would definitely seek out a woman to spend an evening with him to relieve some of the tension. However, seeing as he wants no one other than the lovely yet untouchable Emma Swan, he has to take matters into his own hands, quite literally.

Emma arrives at his door wearing a plaid shirt, puffy vest, leggings, boots, gloves, a hat and scarf. He smiles at her apparel and she scowls back at him.

“You told me to dress warm,” she deadpans.

“You’re right, I did. I’m glad you listened because it may be chilly out on the water, but that doesn’t change the fact you quite resemble a marshmallow right now,” he says with a grin, leaning against the doorframe.

She pushes past him, stomping into the house and whipping off her gloves, scarf, and hat. “I don’t need your sass, Jones. Are we going sailing or not?” she pauses to throw a glove at him.

He catches the glove and smiles apologetically. He lobs her glove back to her, then grabs his own coat, scarf, and gloves from the closet beside his front door. “Aye, we are.” Killian refrains from commenting on the static electricity which has resulted in Emma’s hair standing up around her head in a weird halo, sensing it wouldn’t go over well, considering her mood. He gestures towards the sliding glass door that leads to his back patio. “Shall we?”

When they get outside, she pauses next to his pool and frowns. “It’s drained.”

“Unfortunately, winter and outdoor swimming are not the friendliest of companions. Not to worry, though. It will be refilled next spring.”

Emma nods absentmindedly, heading towards the dock. Killian walks ahead of her, hops on the boat, sets down the bag he packed, and pulls on the tether so the _Jolly_ floats closer to where Emma is standing. He holds out a hand to help her onto the deck.

“I’m perfectly capable of climbing into a boat by myself, you know,” she tells him as she accepts his hand to guide her into the boat. He’s impressed that her tone isn’t actually scolding him as it normally is. Perhaps during their weeks of friendship, she has learned his chivalrous nature is more of a habit than anything and not an elaborate ploy to get her into his bed.

“I know you are, I just thought I’d make things a little easier.” He smiles down at her, trying to ignore how they are standing a bit too close for just friends.

When Emma steps back and plops herself on the bench behind the helm, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Well, thanks, I guess,” she says. He doesn’t pry into her short answers or tense demeanor. Her album release is in just over one week. She is stressed to the point of nightmares. He’ll let her relax in her own time.

He feels Emma’s eyes on him, watching silently as he casts off from the dock, turning the sails to guide them towards the open water. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he knows better than to call her out. He glances back at her and smiles softly. “Warm enough?” he asks as a particularly strong gust of wind hits them. She nods but can’t hide the shiver that goes through her. “Here,” he says, pulling a blanket out of his bag. “Let me know if you get too cold. I have some cocoa in there too.”

Emma pulls the thick wool blanket around her shoulders, cocooning into the corner of the seat. “What did I do to deserve you?” she asks, only a hint of teasing in her voice.

He shrugs. “I truly have no idea. Perhaps I’m just grateful you let me watch movies and crash on your couch from time to time.”

“You’re certainly easy to please.”

“What can I say, love? I am a simple man.”

They sail around for an hour or so in comfortable silence, save for the sounds of the sea and the gulls squawking overhead. 

He flexes his fingers against the wheel, urging the blood to flow back into them as he maneuvers the vessel back towards his house. He feels Emma’s arm press against his and he looks towards her, smiling when he sees her offering.

“You looked cold,” she says simply, handing the mug of cocoa in her hand to him.

“Thanks,” he says. “Although that was meant for you.”

“I got some,” she insists. “I’m not selfless enough to give you the entire thing, but I can part with half of it.”

He sighs at the pleasant warmth of the beverage as it works its way down his throat into his stomach. “Well, in any case, I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Can it really be considered hospitality when we’re on your boat drinking your hot cocoa?”

“Fair point. Though you do need to learn how to simply say you’re welcome. Not everything has to turn into an argument,” he says with a smirk.

She scoffs. “Says the guy who said Harry Potter was overrated just to push my buttons last week.”

“How do you know it was just to push your buttons?” he asks. “It could very well be that I’m just not as enthralled with the teenaged wizard boy as you are.”

“Please. If you actually _did_ believe that, you wouldn’t have watched half the series with me,” she points out.

“Perhaps,” he says, biting his tongue when it wants to add that he would do just about anything to spend an evening with her curled up on the couch, sleeping on his shoulder.

* * *

After they’ve docked, Emma insists on helping him stow away the _Jolly Roger_ for the winter, despite his assurance that he is fine doing it alone later. He suspects she may regret her decision when, three hours later, they return from the marina after cleaning and stowing the _Jolly_ in the storage garage he rents. Emma spent the afternoon teasing him about how meticulous he is when it comes to caring for the sailboat, and Killian glared playfully in response. The _Jolly_ is his baby. He’d bought her used four years ago and restored her to the sleek, gleaming vessel she is today. That doesn’t happen without large amounts of TLC.

When he tries to explain this to Emma she just brushes him off with a smirk and he’s positive she likes pushing his buttons as much as he does hers.

Emma has relaxed so much from the grumpy, anxious mess she was when she arrived earlier in the day and Killian will do anything to keep that from changing. Even if it means serving her request of chocolate chip pancakes and white wine for dinner.

He’s painfully aware he missed his morning workout as he shovels away his own meal and wonders how it is possible Emma eats like this seemingly all the time. It’s surprising scientists don’t study the marvel that is her metabolism.

One bottle of wine later, they end up lying on his couch, giggling at some animated film that is absolutely aimed at a demographic _slightly_ younger than the two of them. They’re both tired and slap happy and just the tiniest bit tipsy.

Emma is ranting about inconsistencies in the film with a passion that is a bit out of place, considering they are watching a comedy for children. “Where the hell does this ‘ _Bank of Evil_ ’ even get its money? It’s not like stealing random things is very lucrative if you don’t sell them. That Vector character stole the Great Pyramid—I won’t even begin to get into how ridiculous that is—but he never ransoms it or anything. He just sticks the thing in his freaking backyard and paints it light blue with clouds, like no one will ever notice. How did he pay back his loans? How is this bank still running?”

He laughs heartily at how seriously she’s taking the film, turning to glance at her and expecting to see a look of contempt. His laughter stops all together when he takes in Emma’s wide smile, her cheeks tinted pink with the faintest flush from the wine she drank earlier, her eyes dark and locked on his. The way she’s looking at him, like he is as dazzling as _she_ is, makes his breath catch in his chest. “Emma, love,” he says softly, completely at a loss for words.

Her eyes flicker down to his lips then back to his eyes and he can’t breathe despite the racing of his heart as she slowly leans towards him. He meets her halfway in a kiss that is slow and sweet. She tastes like crisp wine and chocolate and the way she sighs into his mouth drives him crazy and spur him into action. His hands involuntarily find themselves snaking through the long waves of her hair, anchoring her mouth more firmly against his. At the same time, Emma pulls herself fully on top of him and he groans at the feeling of the lines of her body pressed firmly against him.

Her hands twist in his hair as the kiss turns more passionate. When she begins pressing her hips against his, just teasing at pressure right where he’s craving her touch, he has a sudden moment of clarity and pulls back.

“Love, what are we doing?” he asks hoarsely, acutely aware of her breath against his lips and her hips still flush against his.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She’s breathless and her eyes are dilated and he can barely _think_ with this woman on top of him like this. “We, um, don’t have to change our friendship or anything—this doesn’t have to _mean_ anything—but I really need this, Killian. I really need this night with you,” she stammers, leaning towards him again, her eyes not glancing up from his lips.

Her words are like a bucket of ice water over his head. He stops her advance with his hands on her shoulders, flexing his jaw in frustration because that is the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. She looks at him in confusion and fear and he sighs, his expression softening. “Emma, I can’t do the whole casual ‘friends with benefits’ scenario. Not with you. I’m sorry,” he says softly. It kills him that he can’t be what she needs right now, but if he spends the night with her, _really_ spends the night with her like he’s been dying to since the last time and she wants to act like it never happened, he’ll explode. Killian isn’t sure he can survive more rejection from Emma Swan, especially if he puts his heart out there for real.

Emma pulls back abruptly, hurt, confusion, betrayal and anger written all over her face. “Swan, please,” he says, trying to tell her he’s willing to put the kiss behind them if she can but she shakes her head, cutting him off.

“I have to go,” she says, turning and heading out the door faster than he can stop her. Killian follows after her and watches in vain as her car pulls out of his driveway. 

* * *

* * *

Emma knocks on the door of her brother’s house at 8:00 p.m. Her ears are ringing from the music she blasted the entire way from Killian’s, but at least it was so loud she couldn’t think over the blaring speakers.

Mary Margaret pulls open the door, her eyes wide as she takes Emma in. “What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, ushering Emma into the house.

Emma surprises herself when she bursts into tears at the question. Her sister in law guides her towards the couch, whispering soothing words and pulling her into her arms. Emma can tell she’s taken aback, which isn’t surprising; Emma never cries in front of anyone.

After a few minutes, her sobs have quieted, though there are still faint trails of tears running down her face. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Mary Margaret asks softly.

Emma takes a deep breath and tells her the whole story—from meeting Killian and spending the weekend with him, to finding out he was her publicist, to the unintended moment in the coffee shop that was documented for the entire world to see, to their budding friendship, to her ruining it all by asking for more. She wipes her face with the tissues Mary Margaret hands her, smiling sheepishly in thanks.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you, there must be something wrong with him,” Mary Margaret declares with assurance Emma wishes she had. “You are brilliant, talented, beautiful, funny, kind, compassionate, and strong. There are probably hundreds of thousands of men who would jump at the opportunity to date you.”

Emma winces. “Well, that’s just it… I didn’t exactly ask him to date me. I mean, I know he’s shy and prefers being behind the scenes. He doesn’t want the spotlight that seems to be permanently hovering over my head. But tonight, I was lonely and I wanted him.”

The woman ponders her words for a bit. “Did you consider the possibility that maybe he wants more? If you told him it was going to be another one time thing, it may have hurt him. Maybe he wasn’t willing to settle for something casual.”

Emma frowns, considering her words before she shakes her head and sighs. “Things in my life just don’t go that well.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people were surprised Killian and Emma have been able to maintain a semi-normal friendship given their history. Well....
> 
> I'd really like some feedback from you guys. I've added over 6k words to the story based on things people have said they wanted to see, so I really do take your suggestions to heart!


	10. I hope these memories follow you around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! Many things like job shadows and moving got in the way. 
> 
> Also, I want you all to know that I freaked out when Taylor Swift announced Wildest Dreams as her latest single. The music video premieres this weekend and I am very anxious about that.

_During his senior year of university, Killian had worked as a teacher’s assistant. It was an ideal job—it looked good on résumés, paid decently, in part worked around his schedule, and was right on campus. Killian was overjoyed when he learned he had been assigned to TA for Professor Milah Spinner; she had been one of his favorite professors early on in his education. Milah (who was progressive and insisted all her students called her by her first name) was lively, loud, and an amazing lecturer. Killian had had a huge crush on her his freshman year, along with half of his Management 104 class—it’s amazing how that happens when a professor is relatively young and good looking._

_When he started working for Milah, he realized his crush hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, he’d become more infatuated with the professor. The two of them grew close; Killian could tell her anything and she listened and advised him or just let him vent when need be. Somewhere during the countless hours they spent curled up on chairs in her office on either side of the large stack of papers which needed to be graded, Milah started returning his affections._

_Killian was an honorable young man and Milah was his boss. His married boss. So despite the soft smiles and conversations that were too personal for a professor to be having with a student, he kept his hands to himself. They never spoke about whatever there was between the two of them, just continued working through the sometimes awkward tension between them._

_One evening, Killian noticed faint bruises on both of her wrists. His stomach dropped, but he didn’t say anything. He figured Milah would tell him if she was in trouble. The bruises could have been from any number of things—he shouldn’t immediately villainize her husband just because he was in love with her._

_But a week later, Milah arrived to the university only half an hour before her class was to begin, rather than an hour early so she and Killian could go through the daily lesson plan. When he’d caught sight of the bruise-like bags under her eyes that were very clearly holding back tears, he had closed the distance between them, wiping at the one stray tear that escaped her and asked what was wrong._

_“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she’d said, ignoring his question completely. “I can’t teach today, though. It’s too late to cancel, so is there any way you could teach class? You only need to go over the requirements for their next paper and review what they have learned the past two weeks. I’m so sorry to throw this at you with such short notice.”_

_He reached down to grasp her trembling hands in his. “Hey,” he said softly, “don’t apologize. I would be happy to teach the class, you stay here, drink some tea and just relax until I get back, alright?”_

_She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, then quickly bowed her head and nodded. “Thank you, Killian,” she’d whispered._

_After he let the introductory class out (ten minutes early), he practically sprinted back to the building where her office was._

_There were streaks through the makeup Milah had applied that morning, obviously due to tears. He grabbed a tissue off her desk and wiped the tears from her face. When he realized what he’d previously thought were bags under her eyes were actually black eyes, he stopped breathing. “Milah,” he whispered, unable to say anything else._

_A sob broke from her chest and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “What happened?” he asked as he pulled her closer to him._

_“Robert,” she sniffled, “my husband. He’s been under a lot of stress with his job lately. I promised him I would pick up his dry cleaning last night and clean the house before he got home from his business dinner, and I was here late grading papers so I didn’t do either of those. He came home drunk to a messy house with nothing to wear and snapped at me, called me worthless.”_

_He didn’t say anything, holding still despite the rage burning in his chest, stroking her hair and silently encouraging her to continue._

_“He shoved me towards the kitchen, telling me to look at the mess I’d made and I slipped and fell. It’s my fault. I promised him I would take care of things at home, then I just completely mucked it up and got nothing done. I would be fine if I had caught myself before I slipped,” she mumbled into his sweater._

_Killian gently pulled her away from him and tilted her chin up so she was looking in his eyes. “You are never at fault for someone else’s violence against you,” he said with conviction. “Do you need to go to the hospital? I don’t know much about the medical world, but I think having two black eyes can be a sign of a broken nose.”_

_She sniffled but shook her head. “I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. I’ll be fine. God, I can’t stop crying, this is ridiculous.”_

_“Come home with me,” he suggested. “You can’t go back there, especially not so soon. I’ll take care of you. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll even take the couch if it would make you more comfortable. Milah, darling, you deserve to be treated like a queen. You are smart, and beautiful, and kind, and strong. Anyone who doesn’t recognize how amazing you are has no place in your life.”_

_She looked up at him contemplatively, still in his arms. “You really think so?”_

Of course I do, I love you _, he’d wanted to say. He instead settled for a simple “Aye.”_

_That was the moment they shared their first kiss. Killian’s heart was racing from a mixture of rage towards her husband, worry for Milah, and lust, which made him dizzy. The feeling of her lips against him was everything he had ever dreamed of, despite her tears._

_In the evening, when he’d convinced her to come home with him, Milah had insisted he needn’t sleep on the couch, and instead had pulled him into bed with her before promptly pulling their clothes off._

_In hindsight, the night after her husband had shoved her to the ground was probably one of the worst nights Killian could have possibly chosen to surrender to his body’s need for her. But he was twenty-two and infatuated and stupid, so he did just that._

_That night, as she laid in his tight embrace, he traced circles along her back, reveling in the smoothness of her skin. “I promise I will protect you with every fiber of my being,” he’d whispered into her hair. “I love you.”_

_Her wild brown curls turned into soft, golden waves and she turned around to face him. “I don’t want you like that,” Emma said, pushing away from him and stomping out the door._

* * *

“Killian!” Tink roars into his ear, effectively putting an end to his dream. “Wake up!”

“Fucking hell, what time is it?” he grumbles, turning over in his bed and pulling his comforter over his head.  “And why are you here?”

“It is two, and you had planned on coming ’round to mine for lunch today, you git,” she says, flopping down next to him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to dismiss his hangover by sheer will alone. “Sorry about lunch. As you can see I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered. Too busy staying out all night drinking, I presume?”

“More like staying in. Christ, I had no idea it was so late, I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Tink retorts, waving her hand dismissively. “But seriously, what the hell happened to you? I haven’t seen you like this since—”

“Don’t,” Killian cuts her off.

“Since Milah refused to go to L.A. with you after graduation,” she finishes. He glares at her, his jaw working in anger. He doesn’t want to deal with this. It’s been years, but the memory of Milah insisting her husband had sobered up and changed and telling Killian she didn’t want him anymore still burned. He had planned to take her with him when he got a job fresh out of university. He had wanted to take care of her, treat her as well as she’d always deserved. Instead, she implied he had only been a distraction. And when her husband cleaned up his act, she returned to where she truly wanted to be. He blinks his eyes rapidly, pushing the bitter memories of her rejection to the back of his mind. No wonder she morphed into Emma in his dream. Both of them didn’t want to be with him, not for real.

“Killian, I’m worried about you. Did something happen? Was it Emma?”

“Why would you automatically assume it’s a woman?” he spits.

“Because as I just said, the only time I’ve seen you drink yourself into a stupor and sleep well into the afternoon was about a woman. You weren’t even like this when your mom died. Or Liam.”

“Did you come here for the sole purpose of rubbing the fact that every person I’ve ever loved has left me in my face, or is that just a happy coincidence?” he snaps.

“Okay, I’m not dealing with this, tell me what happened. Now,” she demands.

He sighs, knowing there’s not a chance he will get her to leave him alone until he’s spilled his guts. He tells her everything that’s happened since he was hired (then fired) as Emma’s publicist. Tink knows he has seen Emma since their weekend together—she had a good cackle when he told her he worked for the lass—but he hasn’t exactly kept her up to date with the details of their growing friendship.

“So the woman you’re obsessed with kissed you and you rejected her? Honestly, Killian, you may be the most brainless person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“She has made it abundantly clear she doesn’t want any semblance of a relationship with me. What was I supposed to do, fuck her, send her off on her way, ignore my feelings, and pretend it never happened?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, you idiot, you were supposed to tell her how you feel.”

“Why would I bother doing that? As I said, she already has made it clear she doesn’t feel as I do. Or even if she does, she has no intention of acting on it. I’d rather not get rejected again. There’s only so many times a man can handle that before throwing himself off a cliff.”

“ _God_ you are such a drama queen. What did you say to her before she left?” Tink demands.

“I told her I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want to be friends-with-benefits with her.”

“You didn’t clarify that you wanted _more_?”

“I didn’t have a chance! She ran out as soon as I said that, no doubt horrified of whatever it is I had to offer.” He sinks down into his pillows melancholically.

Tink pulls one of them from beneath his head and begins hitting him with it. “You need to go apologize to her right now. She thinks you don’t want her anymore.”

“Well, that is not the case. She knows I’ve always been interested in her.” He pauses for a moment and thinks about Emma’s file, her tragic backstory that had been revealed to him without her consent when he became her publicist. He read about the foster homes, the ex who abandoned her and sent her to prison, and the ex who died in her arms. He’s heard her lyrics, often filled with sadness. Emma Swan is a lost girl. He’s known that about her since the start. “Oh god, she does.”

Tink and Killian sit on his bed in silence for a few moments. “Alright, I think this is the part where you get the girl.” She stands up and pushes him off the bed and towards his shower. “First things first, let’s get rid of the scent of a distillery, shall we?”

Once Killian has showered, gotten dressed, and gotten some food in him (courtesy of Tink parading around his kitchen like she owns the place), they sit down to plan.

“Why don’t you just show up at her door? Bring flowers. Apologize profusely. Tell her you’re in love with her, _et cetera_.” Tink suggests.

He shakes his head. “I show up and she won’t answer. If she truly thinks I rejected her because I changed my mind about wanting her in any fashion, she won’t read my messages, answer my calls, or talk to me if I arrive at her door. Not to mention I don’t even know if she’s home to begin with. Prior to coming over yesterday, she was spending the weekend at her brother’s house, and I know she has several interviews the next couple of days.”

“Okay, then we do the next best, but significantly less romantic and lamer option. Send her flowers with an apology. If she’s not home, they will leave a slip of paper telling her to call back when she returns, and then they’ll deliver them then.”

“I hate not doing this in person.”

Tink shrugs and him and grabs his laptop, opening it up and starting the search for flower delivery places near Emma’s apartment.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

When Emma arrives home late Sunday evening after recording two separate radio interviews, she finds a new bouquet of orange lilies on the table among the other four arrangements that have been encompassing their kitchen table for the past week. Elsa’s show opened the previous weekend and she’s been receiving all sorts of beautiful flowers from family and friends who have come to see her Broadway debut. She walks right by the table bearing the bright flowers, drops her jacket and scarf on the coat rack and flings off her boots, sighing at the feeling of freedom. It’s been a busy day, but spending it talking about her album and focusing on work was a nice distraction. Now, she’s alone in an empty apartment with nothing to do but overanalyze her disaster of a love life or think about her album release in less than two days and panic. 

Instead of doing either of those, she decides to camp out on her couch with a tub of chocolate ice cream and watch sad movies, so she has an excuse to cry that’s better than a boy rejecting her.

It isn’t until Elsa comes home halfway through _Bridge to Teribithia_ that Emma bothers to take a second glance at the flowers.

“So,” her roommate says by way of greeting as she swings through the doorway, “who sent the flowers?”

“What do you mean ‘who sent the flowers’? You were here when they were delivered.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look at the card because that would be a huge invasion of privacy.” Elsa gives her a look suggesting her answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait. They’re for me?” Emma asks.

Elsa exhales a ghost of a laugh as she stretches out her arms over her head and nods before walking into her bedroom to change.

Emma pauses her movie and gets up off the couch to check the flowers.

> _Swan—_
> 
> _I’m afraid there’s been a large miscommunication. If there is any hope of reconciling some part of our relationship, please let me know. Your friendship means more to me than you can know._
> 
> _—Killian_

Emma laughs in spite of herself. How he can manage to portray his accent over a written message in a card is beyond her. She chews on her lip considering Mary Margaret’s advice the night before. If he sent her flowers the day after he’d rejected her advances, it very well could be possible that her sister-in-law was right and he doesn’t find her revolting.

She wants to call Mary Margaret to debate this new revelation, but it’s past midnight and the first grade teacher is most definitely fast asleep by now. Instead she calls Ruby (who has been keeping up to date with everything Killian-related via text message since last night).

“Em! That’s amazing!” her friend exclaims after Emma tells her about the flowers.

“I’m not sure,” she says warily, “I really have no idea where to go from here.”

“Well, I’d say go for the big romantic gesture. Show up on his doorstep and tell him you love him.”

“Ruby, I don’t—”

“I know, I know, the big romantic gesture isn’t you. But, I also know you’re not the kind of girl who appreciates apology flowers, and you haven’t thrown his away. And I’ve seen the pictures of the two of you—granted those were from over a month ago—but it was clear in those almost creepily gorgeous eyes of his that he’s crazy about you. And I got that from some blurred pictures taken on a cell phone in a coffee shop. You need to tell him you want him for real.”

“I tried! He is the one who made it clear he didn’t want me.”

“That’s not what I’m getting from the note on those flowers,” Ruby says.

“How is it not? He used the word ‘friendship’,” Emma huffs.

“Have you ever heard of a man sending his _friend_ flowers because he’s sorry? No. Because that doesn’t happen. Come on, Swan, get with the program.”

Emma startles momentarily at Ruby’s use of Killian’s nickname for her. “Well then what do you propose I do? Aside from showing up on his doorstep. Because that isn’t happening.”

Somehow, Ruby manages to talk Emma into ordering flowers to Killian’s office, to be delivered tomorrow. Emma wanted to send him another singing gram, but Ruby vetoed that. Apparently, embarrassing someone isn’t the best way to make amends.

The gesture is still ‘grand’ enough that it makes her a little uncomfortable. Emma squirms as she picks out the assorted bouquet with daisies and some bright colors and blanches at the space provided to add a note. She ends up entering “ _Sorry I messed up. Friends?_ ”and hoping that is enough for him to reach out to her. Verbal communication is _not_ her strong suit, and she doesn’t have much experience with recovering a friendship after a fight.

People usually leave her before she has a chance to mend things.

Taking a deep breath, she types in her credit card information and submits the order before she has a chance to talk herself out of it. 

* * *

The next morning, Emma practically runs to Granny’s diner in a panic, searching out her friend.

“Ruby, what have I done?” she blurts out the moment she’s through the door.

“You sent him the flowers, right?” Ruby asks. Emma nods in confirmation. “That’s great, Em.”

“If it’s great, why am I panicking?” she says as she slumps down at the counter, breathless from the trek to the diner and the anxiety building up inside her.

“Because you’re you,” Ruby answers her, pouring coffee into the cup of one of the restaurant’s patrons. “Emma, you like this guy. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Killian has made it clear that he’s been interested in you for months now. You tell me he’s not until your lips fall off, but it’s just an excuse. You have an endless list of excuses why you shouldn’t pursue him or something, but you have got to stop letting your fears keep you away from being happy.”

Emma sighs loudly, resting her head in her hands so her hair falls around her face in a curtain. “You’re probably right,” she mumbles. “But I don’t know how to let go of that fear or whatever. It’s been with me so long. It’s a part of me now.”

Ruby slides a mug of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and cinnamon in front of her. “I don’t know how to let go of fear, but maybe you have to just recognize that it’s there and where it’s from, then try and push past it. Go talk to Killian about your feelings. You can even tell him why you’re scared.”

She cups the steaming mug and lifts it up to her lips, taking a careful sip so she doesn’t burn her mouth. “I’ll think about it,” she says finally.

* * *

* * *

Killian has been sitting at his desk for no more than half an hour when there’s a knock at his door, followed by a delivery man dropping off flowers. He smiles in thanks and pulls the vase towards him, looking for the card. He knows they’re from Emma (because who else would send him flowers), but he wants to see what she has to say. He smiles at the short, unsigned message and decides he should leave her hanging just a bit. He’s still angry she walked out, but he lo— _cares_ about her a lot. He just needs to take a few hours to pause and cool down before he gets in contact with her again.

In the end, he only lasts forty five minutes.

“ _Killian_ ,” Emma answers the phone on a relieved sigh.

“’Morning, love,” he says. “Are you busy?”

She laughs. “ _Well, my album releases tomorrow. So kind of_.”

He internally curses himself. “Right, of course. Sorry. I just meant is there any chance we could meet for lunch or dinner today?”

“ _I wish I could. I’m meeting with the Mad Hatter again today to finalize paperwork before I start recording the song with him on Friday. And tonight I have to go to bed at like 8:00 because I’m doing GMA tomorrow morning. Are you gonna be at the album release party tomorrow night_?”

He bites at the inside of his cheek. “Aye, I will be. I was just hoping I could have a chance to talk to you beforehand. But of course, you’re quite busy. I’m really proud of you, Swan.”

“ _Thank you, Killian_ ,” she says softly.

“Anytime,” he assures her with a smile. “I will see you tomorrow evening. Try not to psych yourself up too much tonight. Tomorrow, your fans will get a chance to listen to the culmination of years of work on your part, but tonight, you deserve some rest.”

She laughs dryly over the line. “ _Yeah, if only it were that simple. I don’t think I’ve gotten more than a few hours of sleep this past week_.”

“Drink some chamomile tea. That always helps me when I’m restless,” he suggests.

“ _God, could you_ be _any more British_?”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with hailing from the U.K., Swan.”

She laughs brightly and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. Perhaps they’ll be alright after all. “ _Well, that’s your opinion. I gotta run, I’m entering Jeff’s manager’s building now_.”

“Right, have a good day, love. I hope your meeting goes splendidly. Let me know if you need me to talk you down from a hysterical outbreak of some sort.”

She snorts. “ _Will do. Bye_!”

He smiles and stretches out his neck. Perhaps salvaging this relationship won’t be as difficult as he thought it would be.

* * *

* * *

 

Despite the fact she’s worn heels more times during the past three months than she probably has for the other twenty-four years of her life, Emma’s feet are aching from standing in them. The party at Delmonico’s is in full swing and she’s been running around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to socialize with everyone and thank them for being there. She’s thankful the restaurant is almost freezing inside, because she’s pretty sure if it was any reasonable temperature, she’d be sweating through the structured, violet cocktail dress she is wearing from the combination of nerves and not standing still.

She sips a flute of champagne slowly and carefully while she chats with partygoers and poses for pictures. It’s only her second glass of the evening, but she can feel a bit of the familiar feeling of alcohol swimming around in her head. Emma vaguely realizes she hasn’t exactly had a chance to take advantage of the waiters walking around with trays full of bite-sized versions of their most popular dishes and hors d’oeuvres and figures her empty stomach is to thank for her low alcohol tolerance.

(And if anyone needs a drink tonight, it’s Emma. She’s tense and grumpy and anxious and exhausted. And she has been eying the small steak burgers that are making their way across the room on a tray. Really, she would prefer to just hang out in the back with the whole tray of those things and a bottle of bubbly, but she has business to attend to.)

“Is everything alright? You look nervous,” her brother says when he comes to join her near the entrance.

“I’m just anxious. And you know how I get when I’m nervous; I am not the most personable… person,” she admits.

He smiles warmly at her. “You’re doing great Emma. You just look like you could use a break. Surely you get to relax, sit down, and eat something? This is supposed to be a celebration for you.”

“It’s almost more of a celebration _of_ me,” she counters. “I don’t know, it would probably be fine for me to sit down and hang out for a bit, but I’m not sure how or when I should do that.”

Really, the constant stream of people and focusing on her conversation and demeanor is helping her avoid thoughts of seeing Killian for the first time since she practically pounced on him a couple of nights ago. She’s really not looking forward to it. Not because she doesn’t want to see him, but more because she’s terrified it will be awkward. He’s becoming one of her closest friends and she will hate herself if she screwed that up in a weak moment.

A photographer tears her out of her thoughts and prompts her and David to pose for a picture. Her brother wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, smiling as she is nearly blinded by the flash. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Make sure you take care of yourself. Ask Regina if you can have a little break.”

The corners of her lips turn up in a weak smile. “I will. You go get back to your wife. Maybe if you can occupy her attention, she and Regina will quit talking and my manager will tell me to take five.”

He laughs as he retreats towards where the two old friends are chatting animatedly. “I will try.”

Emma turns back towards the entrance and stops breathing for a moment when she sees Killian enter the restaurant. He’s dressed in grey dress pants, a black shirt, and a grey tie, his hair wild from the late fall wind outside. He hands his coat off to a man standing at the entrance and turns towards her, stopping when they lock eyes. A teasing half smile lights up his face and Emma can’t help but answer it as he makes his way towards her.

“Happy album release day,” he greets her, wrapping his arms around her in a friendly hug without any hesitation.

She sighs in relief at his lack of awkwardness. “Thank you. Any idea how sales are going?”

He hesitates, wetting his lips for a moment (drawing Emma’s eyes, which is _not_ helpful right now) as if he’s not sure he should tell her. “Aye, from the information we have right now, it’s looking like you’ll sell about thirty thousand units by the end of the day, and hopefully close to one hundred thousand by the end of the week.”

Emma’s eyebrows go up in shock. “I thought they were projecting sixty thousand total this week?”

He grins at her in pride. “They were. But you’ve blown them out of the water, Swan.”

She stands there and blinks at him like an idiot, unable to say any real words. She did it. Her album is _actually_ selling. “I, uh, wow…”

He chuckles at her speechlessness and glances behind him where a small crowd of people are making their way into the restaurant. “I’ll leave you to greet the remainder of your guests. Congratulations, Emma. Enjoy your success. You’ve earned it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if there are too many short scenes/page breaks in this chapter. I wanted all of this to be together, so here we are.


	11. say you'll see me again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope none of you guys thought I abandoned this! I posted the previous chapter on the first day of my senior year of college, and I've been very busy since then. Also, some of this was more challenging for me to write for one reason or another. But anyway, enjoy!

Emma exits her apartment in a hurry to meet Mary Margaret and David downstairs, smoothing down her dress as she goes. She feels a little bit overdressed in the black lace over smoke chiffon gown, but to be fair, dressing up is _not_ her specialty. She figures it’s a pretty safe bet to trust her Regina-chosen stylist to dress her appropriately for her manager’s wedding. Besides, it’s not like she has had any time to go shopping lately. Since her album release over a month ago, Emma hasn’t spent more than three nights in a row sleeping in her own bed. She spent nearly the entire second half of November touring the U.S., doing interviews and promotional shoots for the album, followed by a similar process in Europe and Australia. Then, she’d taken Mary Margaret and David to Bora Bora for a week as their Christmas present. It had felt so good to lie in the sun and go swimming all day with her family without a camera in sight. Emma has felt incredibly indebted to her brother and sister-in-law for all of their support the past few years—financially, mentally, and otherwise—as she has made her journey from homeless orphan to RIAA certified gold recording artist. It is a bit of a relief to be able to repay them in some way, now that she actually has some money to her name.

Emma steps out the door to her building and out on to the curb where Mary Margaret and David are waiting in a car. She smiles at them through the open car window as the driver steps forward to take her bag. “Thank you,” she says, pressing a tip into his hand before she climbs into the car. The ceremony doesn’t start for another two hours, but they’re planning on checking into their hotel and dropping off their bags before the wedding, so they don’t have to come all the way back to Brooklyn and pick up their stuff before the reception and check in then.

“Emma, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” Mary Margaret greets her, pulling her into a tight hug despite the general lack of space in the backseat of the vehicle (and the fact they saw each other not five days ago).

“Thanks, you guys look pretty nice, yourselves.” Her brother is dressed in a light grey suit over a crisp white shirt while Mary Margaret dons a long, fitted red dress that perfectly matches the shade of her lipstick.

After quickly checking in to The Plaza and dropping their bags off in their rooms, Emma, David and Mary Margaret walk to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. As far as winter weddings go, Regina got the perfect weather (Emma wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had cast some sort of spell to assure this was the case). It’s about twenty degrees and partly sunny, the snow from the previous night lightly coating the sidewalks.

They arrive at the cathedral forty minutes before the ceremony starts. As they walk in, Emma gasps at the grandeur of the interior. She can’t help but wonder how Regina managed to secure one of the most famous cathedrals in the country for her wedding. Due to the high ceilings, intricate marble columns, and ornate stain glass windows, the wedding decorations are not abundant; elegant white and lavender tulle are draped across the backs and sides of the pews, adorned with bundles of gorgeous light purple peonies. The altar is covered with clusters of peonies as well as candles of assorted sizes, casting a glow right behind the spot where Regina and Robin will say their vows. The overall effect makes the cathedral look ethereal and heavenly.

Emma’s got to hand it to the woman; she knows how to plan an event. Though she supposes it would be more accurate to say she knows who to _hire_ to plan an event. Regardless, her manager has impeccable taste.

Mary Margaret gasps quietly as she takes in the scenery around them. “This is incredible,” she whispers in Emma’s ear. She nods in response. Something about the whole venue makes her feel as if she shouldn’t speak—the space is too sacred and special to interrupt with idle chatter.

They sign the guest book in the back of their church upon their arrival and are greeted by some people Emma assumes are members of either Regina’s or Robin’s extended family. They take their programs (which have actual flowers pressed in the pages) and are ushered to their seats near the front of the church. Emma knows the scale of the wedding is huge, judging by what she has heard from Regina in passing and the size of the cathedral and reception venue, and she figures the red-clad woman in front of her is to thank for their prime seating location. Mary Margaret and Regina have been family friends forever, so it makes sense that she would be seated near Regina’s extended family.

About twenty minutes before the ceremony starts, the ambient music from the string quartet is joined by soft gorgeous harmonies emanating from the choir section overhead. Emma’s pretty sure this is exactly what she pictured heaven to be like, between the soft, clear voices, perfectly balanced strings, the light aroma of flowers and flickering glow of candles. The cathedral is full of people, and Emma finally understands the need for the towering, intimidating man standing guard at the door—the large number of celebrity guests present guarantees paparazzi are likely trying to sneak in to get shots of the array of singers, actors, philanthropists, and politicians.

Gradually, the wedding party members make their way into the cathedral. Emma doesn’t even notice at first as the groom and the priest step up to the altar; the former looks like he’s trying hard not to smile and the latter somber. She can see the excitement in his eyes and it makes her heart squeeze. After her past relationship failures, she had promised herself to focus on her career and not get dragged into worrying about romance. Judging by the success of her debut album, it worked. But there’s something magical about the heavenly scenery and the thrilled adoration on her publicist’s face that makes her long for a day like this.

And she doesn’t have any particular groom in mind, absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.

The string quartet fades out and the cathedral’s organ begins booming Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_ , signaling the wedding guests to turn expectantly towards the back of the church. Regina’s maid of honor, her older sister Zelena, makes her way down the aisle solo—according to the program, the best man is escorting the bride down the aisle. It may be a bit unconventional, but considering the person fulfilling both roles is Regina’s son, Henry, Emma thinks it is a sweet gesture.

The remaining members of the wedding party follow closely behind Zelena. The tuxedo clad men and women wrapped in purple silk look elegant, not that Emma would have expected anything less.

When the second couple in line behind the maid of honor falls in her line of sight, her breath catches a little bit in her throat.

* * *

* * *

Killian almost trips when his eyes lock on Emma Swan.

It’s nearly maddening how the lass manages to outshine every person in the bloody cathedral with her radiant beauty without even trying. He’s almost surprised Regina allowed the woman to attend—she’s all about making sure she is the center of attention today (albeit, a very reasonable demand of a bride on her wedding day) and Killian can’t imagine she looks anything like the angel in the dark grey dress ahead of him.

Though, he supposes the white dress will likely draw the eyes of everyone (except perhaps him).

He focuses on the couple in front of him, figuring falling on his face in front of hundreds of people is not how he would like to spend the day. The woman on his arm named Cruella tightens her grip on him just a bit, attracting his attention. “Someone special in the audience?” she murmurs conspiratorially in his ear.

_Was he really being that obvious?_ He feels his ears heat up and suppresses the urge to scratch behind one of them. “Aye.”

She straightens a bit and raises one well-defined eyebrow. “Well, best make a good impression, _dahling_ ,” she croons. “Weddings are famous for their ability to rid even a lady of her inhibitions.”

He tries not to elbow her in the side.

Although he’d like nothing more than to appear nonchalant in the moment, Killian fails to stop himself from glancing in Emma’s direction as he nears her seat. Her eyes are on him with eyebrows lifted a bit, looking at him with what seems to be appreciation. (He tries not to smirk; he knows he looks devilishly handsome today, but now is probably not the most appropriate time to acknowledge the fact) He allows himself to smile at her, his grin widening when the corners of her lips tick up as well. They keep eye contact for a few seconds until he passes her and continues up on to the altar, taking his place beside Robin’s mate John.

The last groomsman and bridesmaid follow into place before a pair of tiny children come tumbling down the aisle. Killian’s face breaks into a grin at the sight of Robin’s young son Roland and the flower girl Alexandra marching through the church at a speed much quicker than they’d been instructed at the rehearsal the previous night. Alexandra tosses some flower petals high in the air every few feet, managing to land some in the patrons’ hair. He hears a few chuckles echo through the space when that happens. The rascals join the party at the altar and Killian sticks his tongue out as Roland looks at him, causing the boy to make a funny face in response.

The tune playing over the organ changes to something he doesn’t recognize, and he’s grateful that Regina managed to avoid the ever-overplayed “Here Comes the Bride” tune. The bride makes her grand debut, stepping onto the aisle on the arm of her lad. She looks confident and beautiful as hundreds of people stand in her honor. He glances at his mate’s face and smiles when he sees Robin is sporting not only a face-splitting grin, but also an eye full of tears. When he glances back to Regina, his eyes land on Emma again. The bright smile on her face as she looks at the bride makes him wish for nothing other than to be the cause of her joy for the rest of his days.

He stops that dangerous train of thought quickly, resuming his respectful admiration of the bride in her regal glory. Weddings are nothing but trouble for a man in his situation.

“Who gives this woman to this man?” the priest asks in a booming, yet not intimidating voice.

“I do,” her son says with a smile. Regina pulls him into a fierce hug and Killian smiles as the lad buries his face in his mother’s shoulder, then gets pulled into a hug by Robin himself as he takes his place as best man.

The ceremony is beautiful, but a little unsettling for Killian, as it drags up childhood memories of getting scrubbed clean early on Sunday mornings, dressing in uncomfortable clothes, and piling in his parents’ station wagon to head to their old, little church week after week. He thinks back to his mother’s smiling, bright blue eyes and her unruly red curls and feels a pang in his heart. He has always felt like he has nothing to remember her by, save the couple of faded photographs in his living room, his dimples, and the ginger tint in his beard that becomes especially noticeable during the summer. Liam had gotten her spirit, her curls, and her smile, as well as ten more years with her.

He flexes his jaw and schools his face into a less haunted expression, mentally rejoining the ceremony. Fortunately, he’s spent enough time in the Catholic Church that he knows what to say and do throughout the mass without following along too closely. He imagines otherwise he would make a fool out of himself.

When it is time for the wedding party to rejoin the bride and groom at the altar for the end of the ceremony, Killian’s eyes close in on Emma once again (no surprise there). Her smile is beautiful as she watches Regina and Robin vow to have and to hold, in sickness and in health. Killian sees her brother try to inconspicuously wipe a stray tear from his eye before he smirks and returns his gaze to the happy couple.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest proclaims. “You may kiss the bride.”

Killian doesn’t think he’s ever seen Regina smile as freely as she does the split second between the officiant’s final words and Robin’s lips crashing against hers. He joins everyone in applauding the happy couple before the music resumes and the wedding party begins the processional to the back of the church. Once again, he catches Emma’s eye and winks as he passes, her bright smile in his direction making his heart leap.

* * *

* * *

The first hour of the reception is boring, if Emma is being blunt. Guests are milling about, chatting and finding their seats at the tables set up around the hotel ballroom and grabbing hors d’oeuvres from tuxedoed waiters. Mary Margaret and David spend the time catching up with Mary Margaret’s parents as well as old friends who grew up with her and Regina. Emma has been in a very contemplative mood since the wedding. She’s spent the idle time since the end of the ceremony taking in the ornate details of the ballroom and frowning at her dwindling glass of red wine, doing a good job of avoiding the other guests.

Emma has a choice to make. She knows what she wants and she thinks she knows what Killian wants, but it doesn’t do much to assuage her fears. After a life of abandonment and loneliness, she has put a lot of effort into protecting herself from people who could hurt her. Hell, it took her years to put her full trust in her brother and his wife, even after everything they did to help her get on her feet and get her career started. Ruby has tried to tell Emma a hundred times to just take a leap of faith and tell Killian she cares about him, but that’s much easier said than done. Especially when the only two men Emma really has cared about left her in the ways that Neal and Graham did.

On top of all that, there’s her new relationship with the paparazzi. She’s seen the headlines magazines print about celebrity couples, and they’re mostly not good. Granted, Killian isn’t exactly someone that is already in the news, so it wouldn’t be as bad as it is for couples in that situation. During every conversation she’s had with Ruby or Mary Margaret for the past month, the women have been urging her to let go of her fears and go for it. She’s starting to think maybe she should listen. After all, while on her nonstop album promotion tour, she missed him like crazy. Somehow, against her will, this man has found himself a space in her heart and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the DJ announcing the wedding party has arrived. Emma chews on her lip in anticipation of seeing Killian again. Even though she was away from the city for so long, they had still talked pretty frequently, mainly via texting and email. She is finally admitting that misses him—at least to herself, anyway. She misses their movie nights, his stupid jokes, his kind, understanding eyes, the way his warm scent lingers on her throw blankets after he leaves, and even the solidness of his chest against her cheek on the event they fall asleep watching movies. She misses him and she wants him. The only thing standing between the two of them being together is herself.

Loud music plays as the groomsmen and bridesmaids make their way into the ballroom, dancing goofily and, if Emma’s not mistaken, a bit drunkenly. When Killian enters the ballroom, it’s with a goofy grin on his alcohol-flushed face, his shirt rumpled and untucked, tie loosened, and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Emma gulps down the rest of her drink before catching the attention of a waiter to grab her another Pinot Noir.

Mary Margaret and David rejoin her at their table as she tips her new glass of wine back a little quickly. “Woah, kid, way to get the party started without us,” David says with a teasing grin at her new but already half-empty glass. She stops herself from making a comment about needing a little liquid courage. She would rather not have a conversation with her brother tonight is about her feelings for her former one night stand.

“Gotta do something to keep myself entertained while the two of you gallivant around,” she says in mock defense.

“Emma, darling, come here!” Mary Margaret’s mother Eva (who seems to have gotten head start on the wine along with her) says, opening her arms up. Emma stands and hugs the woman, smiling at the tight embrace. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says genuinely. “I’ve spent the last month bragging to all the women at the club how _The_ Emma Swan is part of _my_ family. They may be getting a bit tired of it, but that’s their own problem,” she says with a smile.

Emma tries not to let her eyes betray the sudden emotions Eva’s comment drags up. Hearing that her sister-in-law’s mother considers her family after how she grew up makes her want to cry. Never could she have imagined having so many people who support her and so much success even six years ago. “Thank you, Eva,” she says, touched. She hopes the woman can see how grateful she really is, despite her few words.

“It’s no problem, dear,” she says, patting Emma on the shoulder affectionately as she sits down. “When do you start your tour? You’ll have to give me a heads up when you’ll be nearby—I would love to see you in concert.”

“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll get you a ticket to go with David and I when she’s in New York,” Mary Margaret assures her, winking at Emma.

“Regina is still in the process of planning out my tour schedule, so I’m not sure exactly when everything will be,” Emma tells Eva. “And since she’s gonna be on her honeymoon for the next two weeks, it’ll be awhile before I know for sure.”

“You think Regina is going to go without working for two weeks? I’m afraid you haven’t known her as long as I have,” Eva says with a laugh.

She smiles. “I told her I would find a new manager if she doesn’t take a couple weeks off to enjoy herself. Empty threat, and I’m sure she knows that, but still. She deserves to actually enjoy her honeymoon. Robin has other people in his office handling his cases while he’s gone. I told Regina I’ll contact her if there’s an emergency, but otherwise she should just enjoy the Hawaiian sun and not stress out about work. Hopefully she listens, but…” she trails off, shrugging.

Emma decides to find Killian, hoping get a chance to talk to him before the speeches and dinner starts. She glances over to the head table where Killian should be sitting but finds his spot empty, shortly before spotting him standing with a short, beautiful woman with blonde curly hair, laughing at something she said. Her heart sinks as she watches how he doesn’t recoil at all when the woman playfully swats him in the chest, smirking at her response to whatever he’s just said. Of course the exact moment she decides she is ready and tries to muster up the courage to tell him so, he’s already moving on. His glances towards her during the ceremony seemed to prove otherwise, but she sees the woman return to her spot at the table reserved for the wedding party’s dates, and Killian hasn’t even tried to come talk to her even though he hasn’t seen her in weeks. She bites the inside of her cheek and finishes off her glass of wine. _At least I might get a decent song out of this_ , she thinks bitterly.

Emma spends dinner trying to hide her brooding and pace herself when it comes to the wine one of the bartenders seems to know she needs immediately after finishing a glass. She needs to keep herself together a bit, at least while she’s within range of the cameras parked around the room. After the reception finishes she can always go up to her room, order some room service wine, and drink ‘till she passes out. But for now, to avoid explaining the situation to her family or worse—going and telling Killian off to his face—she needs to keep her wits about her.

She’s not surprised to find Killian dancing with his date once the party has moved to the dance floor. She’s sitting sideways in her chair, watching all the people—mainly couples dance and laugh and enjoy themselves while she is drinking alone at her table. _God_ she’s pathetic.

As the song changes, Mary Margaret comes to the table, grabs Emma’s hand and tugs her towards the dance floor. “I know you’d rather sit here and brood about whatever it is that’s bothering you, but I won’t allow it,” she says, right as Emma is about to protest joining them on the dance floor. “I won’t make you talk about it here, but you need a distraction and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Emma smiles and follows Mary Margaret into the crowd and loses herself in the music, laughing at her brother’s aggressive dancing. Regina’s son Henry comes over and introduces himself after she’s been on the dance floor a few minutes.

“Hi, Henry, it’s very nice to meet you. Your mother has had nothing but good things to say about you,” she greets the boy with a smile.

“She likes you too, I think. At least, she never seems as stressed out after your events as she does beforehand, so you must not be screwing up too much.” Emma laughs, surprised at how outgoing her reserved manager’s son is. “Anyway, I won’t stay in your hair for too long, Mom said I’m not supposed to distract the guests, but I just wanted to meet you and tell you I really like your music. I had Mom get me my own copy,” he says proudly.

Emma pulls the boy into a hug because maybe she’s a little tipsy and a little emotional. “Thank you, Henry. You’re not bothering me at all. Tell your mom she needs to give you a break,” she says with a wink. “Once my tour gets started, you are more than welcome to bring some friends and come hang out backstage.”

His face lights up. “Thanks, Emma! That would be amazing.”

She smiles as the boy turns around, practically skipping off towards his mother, no doubt to tell her what Emma just said.

A few minutes after Henry leaves her to continue dancing with Mary Margaret and David, she hears the familiar introductory lines of _Single Ladies_ start to play. She groans, knowing exactly what that song means, and gathers with the other women for the bouquet toss. Thankfully, it lands nowhere near her, so she doesn’t have to pretend to try and reach for it while simultaneously actually not wanting to grab the thing at all. The red headed woman who catches it is wearing a sparkling ring on her left hand and laughs, immediately running towards the man Emma assumes is her fiancé and tackling him in a hug.

After the necessary cliché group activities have been completed, Emma goes to the bar to grab her and David a refill on their drinks. When the young man tending the bar hands her their glasses, she says her thanks and drops a few dollars in the tip jar. She turns around to rejoin her family and walks straight into someone, just barely managing to avoid spilling her drink on her dress (thank _God_ ).

“I’m so sorry, lass, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was—Emma?” Killian says, noticing exactly who he’s run into.

“Hi,” she says lamely.

He pulls her into a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, love. I’ve wanted to come talk to you all night, but I didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends.”

“Really?” she asks, thinking of him dancing with his date.

“Of course, I have barely talked to you since your album came out. I’ve missed you, Swan.” He tilts his head to the side, looking at her with that small smile that makes her knees weak.

Before she has a chance to respond, his date joins them, sliding her arm through his. “Gonna introduce me to your friend, Killian?” the woman says teasingly.

Emma flushes in embarrassment and, if she’s being honest with herself, jealousy at the question. She really doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“Erm, this is Emma Swan, Emma, this is my sister-in-law, Nicole,” he says, scratching behind his ear. The tension that was in Emma’s shoulders relaxes completely. She’s an idiot. Of course he brought his sister-in-law. She knows they’re close.

The woman smiles and sticks her hand out to shake Emma’s. “You can call me Tink, Killian knows no one calls me that,” she says with an eye roll. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Emma. This one has told me lots about you.”

Emma glances over to find Killian looking awfully betrayed and glaring at the other woman. She laughs. “Really? Like what?”

“Alright, it was good talking to you, Tink, see you later!” he says, dismissing her before she has a chance to tell Emma anything else.

Emma laughs freely at his obvious embarrassment and he turns his glare on her, though the corner of his lips twitch as he tries not to smile. “So you’ve been talking about me?” she asks, stepping a little into his space.

He wets his lips momentarily. “Not sure what you want me to say, love. That woman has known me since I was ten. She knows who you are and that we’re friends.”

“Mmhm,” Emma hums in disbelief, “sounds like that’s _definitely_ all she knows.”

His jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth and she giggles, elbowing him in the arm. “Come on, no need to get all broody, Jones. I’m just teasing.”

He huffs resignedly, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up in the process. “Between you and that woman I get teased plenty,” he groans.

She laughs again and tells him to wait a moment before she walks over to drop off David’s and her drinks without a word, leaving before her brother has a chance to interrogate her. As she rejoins Killian near the bar, the music changes to something pretty and slow. “Wanna dance?” she asks him hesitantly.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her question but he nods, holding out his elbow. She smiles and wraps her arm through his as they make their way to the dance floor. She laces her fingers together behind his neck and rests her arms on his shoulders as he tentatively places his hands on her hips. They move in silence for a couple of minutes, and Emma gradually lets herself lean into his chest, inhaling the comfortingly familiar scent of his cologne.

“I have to admit, I’m a little surprised you invited me to dance,” Killian says quietly.

“And why is that?” She asks without lifting her head from his shoulder.

“Well, you have been a bit hesitant to be seen together in public.”

She pulls back to look him in the eye so he doesn’t mistake her next words. “Maybe I don’t care about that anymore.”

Surprise registers on his face and he nods, swallowing briefly as they continue dancing.

Emma’s heart races as she leans back into his chest. She’s terrified of this, of _him_ , but she also wants this so bad it hurts, and she can’t help but feel completely at home in his arms. The music picks up again and she reluctantly drops her arms from his neck as the slow song makes way for something more upbeat. Killian’s hands fall from her hips, but he smirks and takes her hand before twirling her around. Emma laughs, wishing this moment wouldn’t stop.

“Attention, everyone,” the deejay says over the speakers after what feels like only a few minutes. “The countdown to the new year begins now. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…”

The crowd joins in, counting down the seconds until midnight. She’s watching the clock, but she glances over to find Killian licking his lips, his eyes darting to meet hers. She blushes and looks away again, trying to distract herself with the countdown and not think about New Year traditions of what happens when the countdown reaches zero. When the clock strikes midnight, she locks eyes with him for a moment before grasping his crumpled shirt and yanking him towards her. His lips don’t hesitate to respond and move urgently against hers. His hands move quickly—one anchoring against the small of her back and the other threaded through her hair, locking her in his embrace.

She hears the shouts and cheers of everyone around them as the crowd rings in the New Year and faintly remembers where she is (in the middle of a crowded ballroom with dozens of cameras around). Killian pulls back and she sways towards him, their foreheads still pressed together.  “What’s your room number?” she breathes. Killian pulls back to look at her, eyes smoldering and lips smirking. He presses a soft kiss against her lips and grasps her hand, tugging her towards the elevators.

She giggles as he impatiently stabs at the up arrow, the fingers of his other hand tightly clutching at hers. When an elevator opens, they quickly stumble inside with, much to Emma’s dismay, several other people headed up to their own hotel rooms. As they stand in silence, waiting to arrive at his floor, Emma squeezes his hand tightly. He glances down at her and squeezes back and suddenly they’re doing that back and forth like children, on the verge of breaking into hysterical giggles because they are still in the presence of six other people and all they really want to do is tear each other’s clothes off.

When the elevator door opens at his floor, Killian quickly pulls Emma out of the car and down the hall, stopping in front of his door. As he fumbles for his key card in his suit jacket pockets, Emma runs her lips along the scruff of his jaw. He groans and angles her head up before chasing after her lips with his. She tugs his bottom lip with her teeth and he groans before gripping her head and hungrily kissing her back. After a moment, he stiffens as if sobering up suddenly and pulls away with a pained look on his face. “Wait, Emma, _fuck_ , I still can’t do this,” he winces.

She drops her hands from his sides immediately. _Of course he doesn’t want her, it’s too late. She waited too long_. “Oh,” she manages.

He softens and brings a hand to squeeze her shoulder. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I really, _really_ do. But I can’t. I can’t do this if all it will be is another ‘one-time thing’ to you. I can’t handle that, love. I’m perfectly content with being your friend if you are not ready for more and that’s what you desire, but I can’t be a hook up or whatever you choose to call it when I have all of these _feelings_ for you, and despite my efforts, they don’t seem to be going away any time soon, and—”

Emma cuts him off with her lips pressed against his once again, softly this time. “This isn’t a one-time thing. I don’t think it ever was,” she admits. “Though I have been too scared to admit that for the past few months. What I’m trying to say is, I want this. I want _you_ , for real this time. I want to try.”

Killian nods and wastes no time unlocking his door and hauling her inside. He hoists her body up over his shoulder and carries her across the room. She squeals, laughing as he enthusiastically drops her onto the fluffy comforter on his bed with a bounce. He flicks on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow around them. “Care to put your money where your mouth is, love?” he asks breathlessly as he loosens his tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

She stops laughing as his shirt opens up, revealing the warm skin beneath. Emma sits up and grips the bottom of his shirt, pulling it out from his pants and unbuttoning from the bottom to meet where his hands are making their way down. Impatiently, she pulls the shirt from his shoulders, but it doesn’t fall from his wrists. She huffs in annoyance before grabbing at the sleeve and undoing one cufflink then the other, smiling in satisfaction as he stands completely shirtless in front of her for the first time in _far_ too long.

Leaning forward on impulse, she presses an open-mouthed kiss against his the middle of his abdomen and traces her tongue along the line of hair that leads downward beneath his pants as her hands get to work removing his belt. She feels his groan rather than hears it, the sound rumbling through his body. His hands come up to play with her hair, fingertips flexing against her scalp. Emma unzips and quickly slides his pants down his legs so she’s face-to-face with his boxer briefs which are betraying his already growing arousal. She grins at him wickedly, licking her lips before palming at him through the thin material.

 “You trying to kill me, Swan?” he asks breathlessly. She looks up, smirking at how wrecked he looks before they’ve even truly started, and shrugs nonchalantly before pulling down the remaining barrier between her and his skin. She begins to stroke him gently and leans forward to bite at the skin above his hipbone, enjoying his answering hiss. Without warning she takes him into her mouth, immensely enjoying the effect she has on him.

 After just a few strokes of her lips on him, Killian’s hand wraps in her hair and gently pulls back so she releases his length from her mouth. “I think I’m plenty warmed up,” he whispers, pushing her back by the shoulders until she’s back to lying on the bed and kicking his pants the rest of the way off his legs. “I say it’s time we even the playing field. Shall we?” A hand snakes beneath her, quickly flipping her over so she’s face down on the bed. Killian begins unfastening each of the delicate buttons that trail down her spine, covering each exposed section of skin with his mouth as he goes.

Emma doesn’t bother trying to hide the shiver that trails down her back as the scruff on his chin lightly scrapes along her spine. He chuckles at her response and she reaches back to lightly smack at his head. “You’re going about leveling the playing field much too slow, Killian.”

“Darling we’re just getting started.” He guides her to turn over and pulls her back to a standing position so he can lower the dress down her body, carefully skimming the chiffon sleeves down her arms so he doesn’t ruin the dress (and thank god for that, because it’s on loan from Monique Lhuillier and she really would rather not pay full price for the gown), and licks his lips as her chest is bared before him. She raises an eyebrow, expecting some sort of innuendo from the dark look on his face, but he says nothing. Instead, he delicately pulls the dress past her hips and it falls to the ground and _honestly it has never taken her this long in her life to get undressed, this is ridiculous_.

The moment she’s free of her dress, standing before him in nothing but a black thong, she licks her lips at the sight of him completely naked before her. Emma pushes him down on the bed, quickly straddling his hips and fusing her mouth to his once more. He groans at the urgency, hands going down to grip her ass and pulling her closer so they’re pressed together as much as they can be. “I had…kind of wanted…to take this slow,” he says between kisses, trailing his mouth across her collarbones.

“We can do slow later. Killian, please,” she whines. His lips wrap around a nipple, sucking it sharply into his mouth and she gasps.

He flips her over, pinning her to the mattress primarily with his hips flush against her own. “Ah ah, Swan,” he tsks, nipping at her nose. “I’ve been waiting months for this.” He lowers his lips next to her ear and practically growls into it. “I will not be satisfied with just a quick fuck. I want to watch and feel you fall apart against my mouth before I finally slide into you.”

“Fuck,” she curses, unable to come up with any more eloquent reply. She grasps at the comforter beneath her. Her skin feels too hot and every brush of his mouth as he works his way down her chest and stomach burns and she honestly just needs some _release_ —“Oh, god!” she cries out as his mouth covers her through her panties, the sudden firm pressure of his tongue unexpected but _so_ welcome.

She opens her eyes and glances at him as he pulls back just enough to pull the last stitch of clothing off her body and settles between her hips. His eyes lock with hers, the blue of his irises barely visible with how dilated they are. Killian’s expression is full of heat but, instead of his familiar smirk, he stares at her with dark seriousness and she gulps. He brings a hand up and teases her slick flesh with two fingers, slipping them in after she makes a strangled sound that is a mix of frustration and a moan. As his fingers work in and out of her, he leans down until his lips latch firmly around her clit.

She cries out, too lost in the feel of his tongue circling around her and his fingers pumping in and out to think about what the people on the other side of the wall may be hearing. She reaches down and grabs roughly at his hair, holding him against her as he alternates between sucking and licking at her. She’s _so close_ and her back arches off the bed as her body tenses in anticipation of her climax. Just as she’s about to fall over the edge, he stops his movements.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she snaps, her body so on edge she feels like she is going to scream. Killian has the audacity to _laugh_ at her, but before she has a chance to yell at him or smack him, his mouth is back on her, sucking her clit into his mouth hard as his fingers slide into her, pulling her over the edge instantly.

Her legs shake as he continues his ministrations through her release. When she falls back, limp on the mattress, he slows his motions and crawls up her body, burying his face in her neck and nipping at the junction where neck meets shoulder. “Yeah, this is absolutely not a one-time thing,” Emma declares on a sigh. “No way in _hell_ am I gonna actively avoid letting you do that again.”

He laughs into her neck before tracing kisses up towards her lips. She opens her mouth to his tongue, deepening the kiss. Her hands release their grip on the bedding to run along the planes of his back, settling on his ass and squeezing for emphasis.

“I think it’s about time we step this up a notch. What do you think?”

“As you wish,” he quips, jumping up from the bed. Emma licks her lips at the sight of him standing before her, hair a complete mess, cheeks flushed and gloriously naked. He groans at her obvious perusal of his body but hesitates. “Bloody fucking hell,” he curses suddenly.

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as he turns around and heads towards his suitcase. “What the hell, Killian?”

“I didn’t bring any bloody condoms with me,” he says, searching his belongings anyway.

She giggles, causing him to turn around to berate her for her reaction, no doubt, but he stops as she reaches for her clutch on the bedside table, pulling one out. “Thankfully, I came prepared.”

He sighs in relief before crossing the room and joining her to sit on the bed once more. “What, Swan, were you planning on taking a poor, innocent man up to your room and having your way with him tonight?” he asks, reaching for the foil packet. She pulls it away from him and pushes him down.

“I don’t know about poor and innocent. You seem to be handling yourself just fine,” she says, quirking an eyebrow up as she straddles him and rips open the package.

“Are you saying you came to this ceremony tonight planning on seducing me? I have to say, I’m flattered. And I like the way you think.” His breath hitches as she rolls the condom down his length, pumping her hand up and down him experimentally before lining her hips up above him.

“You plan on talking this whole night or are you going to let this continue?” Emma asks him.

“I was under the impression that you quite like my talking,” he says, sitting up upagain and fondling her breast with his right hand as he supports his weight with his left, “but if you insist, I can keep my mouth otherwise occupied.” He replaces his hand with his mouth as if to punctuate his point.

Emma slides down until he is seated completely inside her and sighs at the pleasant stretch. Killian’s answering groan vibrates through the spot where his mouth is on her breast. She remains still for a couple breaths, simply appreciating that they’re _finally_ doing this again. One of Killian’s hands threads through her tangled hair, guiding her mouth down to his and devouring it in a hungry kiss. She takes that as her cue to move, slowly rising up and sinking down on him, tilting her hips to get the angle just right.

Killian helps steady her, dropping his hands to her hips and rocking up to meet her in slow thrusts, perfectly matching her pace. Emma can’t help but think slow sex is ridiculously underrated. She’s able to savor the feeling of every bit of Killian as they move together, hear each groan rumble through his chest and lock eyes when his flicker open. Not to mention, their slow pace guarantees they will both last longer.

After a few minutes, she tightens her knees again his hips and rolls over, pulling him with her in a messy, uncoordinated tumble that has him falling on top of her and the two of them erupting in laughter. Killian adjusts his position so his full weight isn’t crushing Emma, lining up their faces. She smiles up at him, her breath catching when she takes in the happy, uninhibited adoration on his face. The familiar warning signals go off in her head at his expression, urging her to run, but she ignores them. She’s still scared of letting herself fall for this man, but she is done with denying herself what she wants.

Emma reaches up, tangling her fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Killian’s mouth moves fervently with hers, effectively putting an end to their brief soft moment. Using the hand that’s not twisted in his hair, Emma drags her nails down his back, appreciating the shiver that follows it. His hips reflexively press down and grind against hers which she takes as a sign to continue. She wraps her legs high against his hips and groans at the way it lines him up perfectly at her center. Slipping a hand between them, she guides his length to her opening.

“Move,” she orders him on a whisper.

Killian does as he’s told, thrusting into her in one swift motion. “Yes, darling,” he says, voice low and thick with desire.

He hitches her legs higher around his torso, pushing into her powerfully. The angle is just right and when he picks up their previously slow pace, she gasps. Killian hits the spot that makes her see stars over and over again, causing her legs to shake. She tilts her hips up as best as she can with her legs locked behind his back to maintain the pressure she can feel building up insider her again.

He leans down to kiss her sloppily, their motions losing finesse as they both get closer to finishing. “Let go, Emma,” he practically growls against her lips, one of his hands snaking down to circle her clit.

Her back arches, pressing her breasts against his chest as she climaxes loudly, her legs falling away from his back and flexing against the mattress. Her waves of pleasure triggers Killian’s release, and his hips slow and gradually still against hers as he lets out something that sounds like a moan mixed with her name. He collapses on top of her, letting his forehead come to rest against her shoulder. The motion of his chest heaving with labored breath causes his chest hair to rub against her over-sensitized nipples and Emma squirms beneath him.

He immediately lifts himself off of her, landing unceremoniously next to her on his stomach. She turns her head to look over at him and giggles at the boyish, satisfied smile pasted on his face. “Hi,” she whispers, pressing her lips against his softly.

“Hello, love,” he says, smile still in place.

“How are you doing?” she asks teasingly.

Killian stretches out. “I’m quite well. Better than I can ever remember. Although I do need to get out of this bed and clean up, and that idea sounds particularly unappealing at the moment.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves against his ribs weakly. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You better be.”

He pushes back the hair that’s clinging to her sweat slicked forehead with a soft smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead before he clambers off to the bathroom.

Emma stretches out, sighing in satisfaction. The tension that she tried to ignore between them in during their illusion of being “just friends” seems to have acted as a few months of foreplay, making tonight all the more satisfying. Thinking about just how satisfying it was, she realizes how loud she was a minute ago and blushes, hoping the walls are thick enough that she didn’t give any of the neighboring rooms’ residents an earful.

Killian clicks off the bathroom light and moves to join her back in bed. She doesn’t bother to try and hide her appreciative gaze of his naked body as he returns to her. He lays on his side with a smile, head propped up on a fist. “Like what you see?”

“Absolutely,” she affirms. He chuckles and leans forward to kiss her. Emma can’t help but think she could get used to this whole not having to refrain from reaching out to him in any way thing. She sighs happily against his lips. “I’ve missed this.”

“Aye, so did I. I wish I wouldn’t have pushed you away last time, it would have saved us both a little trouble.”

She shrugs and curls into his side, tucking her head against his neck. “It’s alright. I think I had some things to work out on my own. It could’ve been relatively disastrous if you agreed to another one night stand when we both were harboring feelings for each other.”

His fingers trace patterns on her scalp as he considers her words. “Well in that case, I retract my apology. This evening was quite an excellent reunion and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Neither would I,” she whispers quietly, wrapping an arm around him to pull his face down towards her and cuddling him closer.

They lay there curled up together for a few minutes quietly, simply enjoying one another’s presence. He breaks the comfortable silence, clearing his throat. “Are you planning on staying the night?” he asks hesitantly.

Emma pulls away and looks at him incredulously. “Seriously? I thought I made myself clear. I’m not going anywhere.”

His answering grin grows slowly across his face and he nods in acceptance, pulling her half on top of him into a squeezing embrace that pushes all the air from her lungs.

She laughs as he loosens his hold on her. “Just so you know, it may be a bit more difficult to keep me around if you hug me so tight I pass out.”

“Duly noted. I’ll be sure to remember that,” he says unapologetically, pressing his nose against her temple.

Seconds later, Killian yawns wide, his jaw cracking and making Emma huff a ghost of a laugh. “Tired?”

“Aye. A beautiful lass may have worn me out this evening,” he says with a smirk.

“Well in that case, what do you say we get some sleep?”

He nods, yawning again and reaches over to turn off the lamp, cloaking them in darkness. Killian adjusts his position, making himself comfortable on his back and pulling the comforter over them. Emma snuggles into his side again, tossing a leg over his hips and an arm across his chest.

“’Night, Killian,” she says softly.

“Sweet dreams, love,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys liked their reunion. I'd love to know your thoughts if you don't mind leaving a comment! There is one more chapter followed by an epilogue, which I will try to get written and posted as soon as possible. I love this story but I'm more than ready to experiment with some other projects that have been floating around my head recently.


	12. even if it's just in your wildest dreams

Emma wakes up stifling a squeaky yawn as she stretches out beneath Killian’s arm. She can’t help but smile, which shocks her. Sure, she had made up her mind last night before she jumped into bed with the him, but she still thought it was likely she’d wake up this morning and panic after having taken a real step in that direction. After all, she hasn’t done this relationship thing with much success in the past. Even though Killian has proven to be nothing other than reliable and honest during the past few months, Emma has a hard time trusting anyone.

The room is still fairly dark, so she figures she has some time before she needs to get up and get ready for the post-wedding brunch. She twists around in Killian’s arms, tucking her face into the side of his neck and pulling his warm body closer to hers. The smell of his cologne mixed with musk and _Killian_ makes her sigh. How she let herself resist this for so long is a true testament to how stubborn Emma can be. Or, how major her commitment issues are. Probably a combination of the two.

He stirs in his sleep, rolling from his side to his back, pulling her half on top of his chest as he mumbles something unintelligible. She silently laughs at his furrowed brow, stroking her thumb across the scar on his cheek and admiring the way his face twitches in sleep. She’s definitely not ready to admit it to him or anyone else yet, but in the early morning light, with her kind, handsome man sleeping soundly beneath her head, she thinks she could love him.

* * *

 

* * *

 

Killian awakens with a groan and rolls over settling into the cool sheets. After a moment he stiffens as he realizes what exactly the temperature of his sheets indicates and cracks open an eye to finds Emma’s side of the bed empty. His stomach immediately drops. Internally he curses himself; he should have known she wasn’t serious about trying things out for real. But Emma isn’t that good at deceiving him. Surely her words were genuine when she spoke of trying and wanting him. Perhaps he did something to dissuade her during the night (though he doubts that; she responded quite well). Or perhaps she woke up and panicked, leaving him before he had a chance to talk her down from her instinct to run at the first sign of emotional intimacy.

He’s pretty sure it’s the last one.

Killian is in desperate need of a stiff drink, but it’s not yet nine a.m. and he’s past his days of drinking in the morning. Besides, he has the blasted post-wedding brunch to attend and he’s not enough of an arse to make a scene at his friend’s wedding (nor is he daft enough to do anything to take the attention away from Robin’s new bride) by attending the festivities half in the bottle.

He pulls himself out of bed and hastily showers, combs his hair, and dresses in a pair of khakis and a blue, checkered, button-down shirt (Tink previously informed him that his preferred dark colors were too morbid to wear the morning after the celebration and insisted he pack this particular outfit) before rushing out the door of his room. Hopefully the brunch has a more relaxed start time than some of the other wedding-related events, seeing as he is three minutes late.

He enters the conference hall where the newlyweds are hosting their brunch and greets Robin warmly, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Congrats, mate. You’re stuck with her for life,” he jokes.

Robin turns his head to gawk at his new bride with a dazed look on his face. “And thank god for that,” he sighs.

He nudges the man’s shoulder, bringing his attention away from his new wife and back to the conversation at hand. “Stop with the love-struck thing. Where’s the fun in teasing you about being tied down and such when you don’t even fight back?”

Robin laughs. “Tease me all you like. Nothing can bring me down right now.”

Killian shakes his head in mock disappointment, but the action is softened by the smile on his face. After congratulating Robin once more, he heads towards the buffet table to stack a plate up with food, but stops dead in his tracks. He supposed Emma would flee the scene after apparently deciding their dalliance was a mistake, but there she is, dressed in a red knee-length dress that perfectly matches the shade of her lips. She is standing in line for coffee, smiling while animatedly talking with a petite brunette with a pixie cut, her long curls beautifully framing her face. She looks up as if sensing his eyes on her and he sees her smile fade at his expression before he remembers that he is, in fact, capable of moving. He pivots and begins making his way back towards the elevators.

“Killian!” Emma calls after him. “Killian, stop!”

He whirls around to face her. “Oh now you want to talk,” he snaps at her, past the point of policing his tone. “What bloody excellent timing! You couldn’t have just told me you changed your mind this morning before you left, you have to let me wake up alone and just _surmise_ what happened? You can’t do that to a man, Swan. I—”

Emma cuts him off with her lips firmly against his, holding his face to hers with both hands. She pulls back gently. “Sorry, I thought that would be the quickest way to calm you down,” she says with a small smile. Utterly and completely confused, he just stares at her. “I haven’t changed my mind,” she assures him. “Did you not see my note?”

“What note?” he asks cautiously, his hand still anchored at her hip. ( _Wait—how did that get there? Why is he touching her?_ )

She sighs and runs a hand down his arm reassuringly. “I wasn’t skipping out on you. I just really didn’t want to come down here in last night’s hair, makeup, and dress. I went to my room to get ready for breakfast and was gonna meet you to walk down here. But when you didn’t call me or meet me at my door at nine, I went to your room to see if you were still sleeping, and you weren’t there.”

He scratches behind his ear, embarrassed at his jumping to false conclusions. “My apologies, lass. I never saw the note. You must have gone up to my room just as I was making my way down here.” He lets his hand brush a strand of hair out of her face and she leans into his touch. He finally registers her words and demeanor with a shock.

“You still want this?” _You still want me?_

A bright smile lights up her face and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. She nods and pulls him down for a soft kiss. “Now that _that_ is all cleared up,” she murmurs against his lips, “what do you say we go get some breakfast?”

He smiles and laces his fingers through hers, allowing her to pull him back towards the brunch crowd.

* * *

 

The petite woman with the pixie cut is Emma’s sister in law.

He tries to recover quickly as Emma introduces them, but he’s honestly shocked to be meeting the family so soon. (And a little self-conscious—he _did_ get ready in just a few minutes and is sure he looks more than a little disheveled at the moment, for reasons he would rather not discuss with the present company) The woman eyes their clasped hands suspiciously then takes a second to study his face. He sees a flash of recognition cross her eyes almost immediately and then she smiles brightly, greeting him enthusiastically. She asks how he enjoyed the wedding and the reception, and follows up with an endless stream of other questions. Emma flushes and shoots him a sympathetic look as they sit down, Mary Margaret’s interrogation still going strong. He squeezes her hand reassuringly under the table. He’s always made a good impression on parents (and meeting Emma’s sister-in-law feels a lot like those experiences), so this he can handle. Though, with Emma’s hand in his, he feels he could accomplish anything.

Emma’s brother is a little less overtly warm and a little more cautious towards him.

Killian totally gets where he’s coming from. He imagines if he had a sister like Emma he would be just as protective of her heart as Dave is. He wants to be worthy of her and if that means sucking up to the family, that is exactly what he’ll do. He can play nice. Especially when he finds out the man played football (or soccer, as Americans insist on calling it) in his youth and he gains some common ground for conversation.

(He almost blurts out an offer to invite the couple out sailing when it gets warm enough, but considering he and Emma have yet to discuss what exactly ‘trying this’ entails, he decides that gesture may be too much too soon.)

After they finish eating, the four of them stay seated as Regina, Robin, Henry, and Roland begin opening gifts. Killian finds it amusing that two adults who already have plenty of household necessities independently have somehow found the need to register for brand new everything. But he supposes any opportunity to acquire free goods is one that should be taken; after all, he’s always considered himself to be a pirate at heart.

He’s desperate to get Emma alone, and not just for obvious reasons; he needs to talk to her. He needs to know that she is, indeed, all-in when it comes to the two of them. Also, he’s itching for the chance to just hold her. For months now, he’s been holding himself back in their interactions, respecting her wishes to stay professional, or at least strictly friendly. Now that this has changed, he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and bury his nose in her hair and never let go. If only the bloody brunch could end.

After what seems like many hours, but is likely just over one, the brunch is over and the guests begin making their way out of the conference room. Emma leans against his shoulder as they wait for the elevators and he wraps his arm around her back. He pokes his tongue in his cheek, pondering how to approach this. “So, what do you have planned for the rest of the day, love?” he asks (lamely). This woman makes him lose all his admittedly impressive conversation skills and act like a nervous teenage boy. He would resent her for it if he weren’t so stupidly smitten with the lass.

Emma looks up at him and smiles, shrugging. “No plans. I was thinking about just laying around watching movies all day or something. Wanna join?”

“Aye, I’d like that very much. Though we do spend a disproportionate amount of time at yours. Would you like to come to my house?” He doesn’t add the ‘ _You’re welcome to stay the night_ ’ that is on the tip of his tongue.

She smirks at him. “That would be great. Did you drive?” He nods. “Okay, great. Can we stop by my house so I can drop off my stuff from last night and pack a bag real quick?”

“Of course. I’ll come meet you when I’m done packing and we can head out,” he suggests as an elevator car opens and they step inside, something fluttering in his stomach at her apparent plans to spend the night.

“Alright,” Emma says softly. Her eyes flicker to his lips and he momentarily loathes the presence of the three other people in the small space with them.

When they arrive at Emma’s floor, she leans up and presses a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. “See you in a bit,” she assures him with a smile as the doors close. He wonders for a moment how long it will take him to stop smiling like a bloody fool every time she touches him with casual affection. Likely longer than he would hope.

He’s nearly frantic in his haste to shove all his belongings in his suitcase and get out of the hotel, which is very different from the normally careful way he packs. Tink takes every opportunity she is presented with to try and persuade Killian he has OCD. In spite of years’ worth of trips with the lass, he still doesn’t agree. He’s pretty sure she is just a slob.

Killian makes it to Emma’s door less than ten minutes after the elevator dropped him off at his floor and knocks to let her know he has arrived. She opens the door not seconds later and immediately pulls him inside, fisting the front of his shirt and yanking until his mouth is on hers. Her hands move to wrap around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape, and his own move to splay across her back. She draws back just far enough to lean her forehead against his, breathless and smiling. “I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” she says, punctuating the statement with another kiss.

He chuckles low in his chest. “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t alone in that desire. Ready to get out of here?”

She nods and pushes up on to the balls of her feet to give him one final, lingering kiss. He groans. “Love, if you keep that up I’m not sure we’ll make it out of this hotel room before checkout.”

“So?” she whispers against his lips, not making any move to pull away.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, gently separates the two of them, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

Emma pouts at him, the combination of her lip jutting out and the smile still in her eyes making him smile. He grabs her hand and tugs, leading her towards the door.

* * *

One thing he wasn’t counting on is the presence of photographers stationed at the exit of the hotel. He’s dealt with paparazzi plenty of times—he is a publicist after all—but this is the first time he himself has been of any interest to the cameras. Emma surprisingly doesn’t let go of his hand when they reach the doors; if anything, she holds on a little bit tighter. He leads her to where his car is waiting with the valet, trying to ignore the shouts of “ _Emma Swan! Over here! Emma!”_ coming from their right. He helps her into his dark grey sedan as the valet loads their suitcases in the trunk, and climbs into the driver’s seat with a sigh.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I didn’t think about the fact that the press knew there was a high-profile wedding with high-profile guests. And I know you prefer to stay out of the spotlight.”

His eyebrows knit together and he glances at her for just a moment before pulling out onto the street. “Why do you say that?”

“Please. You work in show business. And you look like _that_. You obviously could have made some sort of career out of your face if you had any desire to.”

He laughs in surprise, earning him a punch in the arm in response. “Sorry, love. You’re just not usually so upfront about things.” He grabs her hand and pulls it up to his lips, brushing lightly against her knuckles. He doesn’t comment on Emma’s shallow intake of breath or the way she doesn’t let go of his hand and lets it settle in his lap. “But to answer your question, I’m not all that comfortable doing things that aren’t my own idea. Modeling would be bloody terrifying and awkward, and I’ve never been inclined to act. Not quite that good at pretending to be someone I’m not, you see. But I do fancy the business side of things, and I’m quite decent at networking, so publicity it is.”

He steals a glance at her and sees her chew on her lip before nodding and squeezing his hand in hers. “Okay. Fair enough.”

They ride in comfortable silence (save for the radio playing softly) the rest of the way to Emma’s apartment. Killian can’t help but wonder if Emma is worried he is going to jump ship at the first sign of conflict. He hopes she knows him better than that. If anyone knows what happens to celebrities and their significant others in the press, it’s him.

The curb outside Emma’s building is a no parking zone, so he waits for her in the car as she runs up to her place to swap out her things. He pulls out his phone and searches Emma’s name on Twitter, curious to see if the gossip sites have grabbed ahold of the pictures taken. There’s nothing online about them leaving the Plaza hand in hand, but he supposes it is probably just too soon. Once the photogs have a chance to upload the pictures to the internet and rave about “ _Emma Swan’s new beau!_ ” or, if they recognize him from the photos taken on cell phones when the two of them got coffee what seems like a lifetime ago, there’s sure to be an even bigger uprising.

When he remembers Robin’s cases have been transferred to him for the duration of his friend’s honeymoon, he chuckles to himself. He hasn’t really had to worry about making statements on a client’s relationship involving himself before. It’s unlikely any of the press will be aware they are contacting the man in the photos when he receives Robin’s forwarded emails and phone calls for comments, so at the very least, he will not have to worry about interrogations about his personal life yet. There are, however, some photos of Emma arriving at the reception from the previous night which have made appearances on a several style websites. Those don’t require any damage control on his part, though.

Emma opens up the back seat of his car to drop her bag in. “Sorry that took a while,” she breathes, “I had to hang up the dress to make sure it doesn’t get wrinkled. Also, Elsa was home and she asked me about the wedding.” She climbs in the front seat and kisses his cheek.

He smirks knowingly. He’s not blind; he has noticed Elsa’s contemplative looks at the two of them on the occasion she is around while they spend time at Emma’s flat. “Did she ask where you were going?”

She flushes. “Maybe.”

“So the real reason it took a while is because your roommate interrogated you about events other than the wedding itself?”

Emma huffs but doesn’t answer his question, instead cranking up the radio.

Killian smiles as Emma absentmindedly sings along to the song playing on the radio. She catches his grin and stops. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that it is blood brilliant to have a professional, extremely talented musician sing along to the radio as I drive. And for free, no less.”

She squints at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not! I’m a big fan of your music. I am honored to have a private concert, Swan,” he assures her, squeezing her hand.

“Okay, good.”

He’s disappointed when she doesn’t sing for the next couple of songs, just humming under her breath, so he turns up the radio a little bit more.

He recognizes the intro notes of “Snow Drifts” and swats Emma’s hand away when she goes to change it. “I like this song,” he tells her.

She rolls her eyes at him, but the smile on her face tells him she isn’t actually annoyed. He realizes she has hardly stopped smiling since last night, and the thought brings a smile to his face as well.

They ride to his house mostly without talking. He would call it amicable silence, but with Emma singing along to the radio it is anything but silent. After a bit, Emma reaches over and grabs his hand, winding her fingers through his. He glances over at her and smiles as she affectionately leans towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are we close?” she says on a sigh.

“We will be there in about twenty minutes. Why, love? Are you in a hurry?” he asks with a sultry smirk.

“I’m exhausted. I’m ready to go put that super comfy bed of yours to good use.” He doesn’t even have to look at her before she clarifies. “Wait, not like that. Okay, _yes_ like that, but not right away. Nap first, crazy good sex later. We should probably talk about things as well.”

He laughs and brings their interlocked hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Aye, that would be a good idea. Worry not; I am more than willing to crawl back into bed with you when we get there.” Without looking, he can feel her pointed look aimed in his direction. “In any context,” he adds.

When they get to his house, Emma drops her bags unceremoniously just inside his door and makes herself at home, climbing up the stairs towards his room. “Well?” she says expectantly, turning to look down at him from the top of the staircase. “Are you coming with me or not?”

He smiles and bounds up the staircase behind her.

Emma pulls off her sweatshirt and throws it at him, hitting him square in the chest. She smiles at him coyly as she pulls down the comforter and climbs into his bed, patting the spot beside her.

“Love, if you plan on getting some sleep right now, it might be best if you’d refrain from removing your clothing and looking at me like that.”

She laughs and pulls on his arm when he’s close enough to reach.

“I, erm,” he stutters, gesturing to his dress pants and button down shirt awkwardly. “I’m gonna change quickly.”

“Killian, I’m a grown up. You can just sleep in your boxers, it’s fine. That’s your usual, right?”

He shrugs and pulls the hem of his shirt from his pants, making quick work of the buttons until he can pull it off. He quickly unbuckles his belt, lets his pants fall to the ground, then looks up to find Emma watching him. “Emma,” he groans warningly as he climbs into the bed next to her. They need to talk all of this through before they get distracted with one another’s bodies yet again. Killian needs to know where they stand and what she’s comfortable with. He knows it would be far too easy to simply ignore all of that and let her devour him whole.

She pulls herself on top of him, her mouth hot on his in a kiss as passionate as the previous night, though less sloppy. He can feel his body responding and suppresses the urge to take things further, his hips itching to press up against her. He rests one hand lightly on her lower back over her shirt and the other goes to brush her hair away from her face. She breaks from his mouth to kiss his jawline, laughing as he groans in response.

“You, Swan, are a bloody demon. I thought you wanted to get some sleep?”

With one final nip at his jaw, she pulls back to look at him. “That can wait,” she says. She buries her face in his neck and her hips rock purposefully against his.

“Emma,” he tries to protest weakly. She giggles into his neck, but her laugh is interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Still want to claim you’re not tired?” he asks, poking her in the spot just under her ribs that makes her flinch.

She slides over so she’s only half on top of him. “Fine,” she yawns, nestling one leg tightly between his, wrapping an arm around his chest and using his shoulder as a pillow. “’Night.”

He chuckles, amused at her rapid change of pace. “Sleep well,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She hums happily at the action and Killian falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

* * *

* * *

Emma awakens to the soft drag of Killian’s fingers running along her scalp as he plays with her hair. She hums in appreciation and lifts her head off his shoulder to kiss him sweetly. “Morning,” she mumbles.

 

“Good afternoon,” he corrects her. “It’s just after one o’clock.”

“How long have you been up?” she asks, letting her hand wind in his hair. She briefly notices it’s a bit longer than it used to be. She kind of loves it.

“Just about half an hour.”

She smiles weakly at him. “Sorry I kinda had you pinned down.”

He chuckles low and warm, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Never apologize for your presence in my bed.”

She takes that as an opportunity to pull herself fully on top of him. Emma leans down and kisses him slowly, deeply, swallowing his sigh of pleasure. His tongue darts out to trace along her lower lip and she gladly allows it access into her mouth, languidly moving her own against his. She draws back and rests her head in the crook of his neck where she seems to fit perfectly. “I’m hungry,” she tells him.

Killian laughs. “Well, then, let’s go downstairs and I’ll make you lunch.”

Emma insists on helping, so she sets two places at the small, round table in his kitchen, then puts together side salads for them while Killian prepares some basil pesto chicken bake that already smells incredible. She finishes her assigned duties before he does, so after she puts the salads in his fridge to sit while their food cooks, she slides up on the counter and sits next to where he’s working. She watches as he chops up fresh garlic and puts it in his food processer with what looks like basil leaves, parmesan, and some kind of nuts. “How is it you just have all of this stuff in your kitchen?”

“Well, Swan, you see, some people have to eat to survive. And I for one like fresh food, which means I have plenty of things lying around.” He stands between her legs, punctuating his statement with a quick kiss. This whole standing in the kitchen, making lunch with him is so cute and domestic and cliché, Emma should hate it on principle—she is a card-carrying cynic after all. But instead, it just makes her heartbeat quicken a bit and brings a content smile to her lips.

“Sorry some of us are too busy traveling to have things that expire in their fridge,” she rebuts, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Please, don’t try to pretend you would have perishables otherwise. I know you. Your diet consists almost exclusively of takeout and pop tarts.”

“I’ll have you know, I can also make decent waffles _and_ scrambled eggs,” she announces, licking her lips as he spreads the freshly made pesto over chicken breasts and puts the pan in the oven.

“That is something I would love to experience for myself,” he tells her. He sets a timer on his phone and sticks it in the back pocket of the sweatpants he put on before coming to stand between her legs again.

Her hands drift up to his hair once again, dragging through the thick, silky locks. “Well I’ll just have to make you breakfast sometime, then.”

He cracks a half smile and pulls her head down towards his, fusing their lips. Anchoring his arms below her thighs, he lifts her off the counter and carries her towards his living room. She laughs and locks her ankles behind his back. “This seems like it could end in some burnt food,” she warns him.

“Darling, I have plenty of self-discipline. I am able to respect a timer when it yells at me to retrieve our food.”

She rolls her eyes. “Would you just stop talking?” she says teasingly, occupying his lips in a much more productive way.

He laughs against her, pulling her even closer into his embrace. Their kiss is sweet and slow, and makes her warm without the searing heat she knows he’s capable of drawing from her. Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed like this, like they have all the time in the world, like he’s kissing her just to kiss her, and not working towards an end goal.

Hell, she’s probably never been kissed like this. At least, not since she was a teenager, and definitely not with this much skill.

When the timer goes off, she pulls back reluctantly, pouting at him. Killian laughs and leans forward to nip at her bottom lip once more before she eases off his lap. “You know, there’s something to be said about good, old-fashioned making out. Adults don’t really seem to kiss for the sake of kissing all that much,” she ponders out loud as she grabs their salads out of the fridge and takes them to the table.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says with an amused grin. Killian pulls the pan containing their lunch out of the oven, scoops a couple of servings onto plates and brings them to the table. “Your meal, milady,” he says with a cheeky grin, setting Emma’s plate in front of her and swiftly kissing her cheek.

Emma shovels her salad into her mouth quickly (it’s been awhile since brunch, sue her) so she can start digging into the pesto chicken that is currently making her mouth water. She moans as she takes her first bite of her main dish, her eyes fluttering closed. She opens them to find Killian eyeing her with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Shut up,” she mumbles around the food.

“Hungry, are you?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“I’ve had a lot of takeout the past month. And even when I’ve cooked food, it’s been pasta. Or something else with two ingredients. Forgive me for appreciating an honest to god, home-cooked meal,” she says defensively, defiantly sticking another forkful of food in her mouth.

He smiles and grabs her hand that remains sitting on the table. “I’m glad you appreciate it, love.”

They eat in silence for a couple of minutes before Emma starts feeling like the weight of their impending conversation about defining their relationship is crushing her. She sets her fork down and looks up at him, biting her lip nervously. “So are we gonna address the elephant in the room?” she asks when he regards her expectantly.

He chuckles. “Aye, we can discuss where we stand if you so inclined.”

She nods and just sits there, looking at him awkwardly and _god,_ they have never been this weird around each other, why is she so horrible at communicating? “Umm… so…” she begins, cringing at her own words.

Killian laughs at her attempt, causing her to scowl. He picks up her hand that’s resting on the table and presses it against his lips, his touch causing her to relax slightly. “You don’t need to be so nervous, love. I’m not going to attack you.”

“I’m just really not good at communicating,” she mumbles.

“I don’t see how that could be true. There’s a whole album of songs out there proving otherwise,” he says, coaxing her to look at him.

“Songwriting is different than face-to-face verbal communication,” she complains.

“If it would help, I would be willing to turn around and let you sing at my back.”

“Killian,” she says with a glare.

“Sorry love, just trying to ease your nerves. You do not need to be nervous on my account, alright? I’m here with you. We can figure this out together.” He winds his fingers through hers and the familiar feeling of his skin warm on hers helps her think.

“Okay,” she says. “So, I told you last night that I want to try this for real. I meant that. I’m all in.”

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of beautiful, and she returns it. “That certainly is wonderful, because if you backtracked now, I’m not sure my heart could take it,” he teases her, squeezing her hand in his. “So we are in a relationship now?”

His tone is cautious and she feels guilty that she has made him that way. “Yeah, you could say that. I want you all to myself,” she admits, the words coming out more quickly. She hadn’t realized that once she started talking, it may all just tumble out and she really needs to get ahold of herself before she says something embarrassing. “But I have to warn you: I’m not too experienced in the whole ‘serious adult relationship’ business, so I will probably mess something up.”

“You have me all to yourself, darling,” he says, beaming at her adoringly. “And I have steered clear of relationships for much of my adult life as well. We have all the time in the world to figure out what that means for us. There is, however, still the matter of your fame. What are we doing as far as the public is concerned? Thanks to my career, I understand if you want to keep things under wraps for the time being more than most people would. If you happen to get a bit stir crazy, I know of places that are much more discrete, so we could certainly go on actual real dates—after all, I’ve wanted to take you on one of those for quite some time. If not, we can—”

“Killian,” she stops him, “that sounds great. I’m not overly worried about the public, seeing as we may have accidentally made our debut sometime in the last twenty four hours. I’m not sure I am ready to scream it from the rooftops that we’re a couple or whatever, but I’m not gonna hide you away like some dirty secret. As long as all of that is okay with you, that is.”

At some point during their conversation, his chair has scooted closer to hers (or hers to his, she’s not really sure which) to the point where their knees are now touching and their clasped hands rest on her thigh. His thumb is drawing small, absentminded circles on her legging-covered skin, which makes it hard for her to fully focus on the conversation at hand.

“I would like nothing more,” he tells her softly. Her eyes dart to his lips quickly and Killian must notice. He lets go of her hand and places his own on the back of her neck, guiding her to him. His kisses her softly and chastely and it makes butterflies erupt in her stomach (a feeling she hasn’t associated with a boy since high school).

He withdraws far too soon for her appreciation and she chases after his lips briefly before opening her eyes. “Do you have any more questions? Or can we continue with the whole kissing thing? ‘Cuz I would kinda like to continue with the whole kissing thing.”

His laugh ghosts warm across her lips and Emma finds herself leaning in again, unconsciously. “I think I’m good,” he answers, his lips brushing hers, before fusing their mouths together again. He pulls Emma into his lap and she lets out a muffled sound in surprise before returning the kiss enthusiastically. When her arms wrap around his neck, he wastes no time in standing up with her gathered in his arms and makes his way towards the stairs.

“Killian!” Emma practically yells, trying to squirm out of his reach. “Put me down, I can walk. I’d rather not fall down the stairs to our death because you tripped on the way up.”

He stops moving for a moment but doesn’t lessen his tight hold under her thighs. “Is that a challenge?” he asks suggestively, one eyebrow quirking up.

“No! It’s not, seriously, please don’t hurt yourself.”

“Nonsense, Swan! I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you!” he answers brightly, making his way up the stairs.

“Why the hell have you carried barrels of rum? What are you, some kind of pirate?”

He drops her on his bed when they arrive in his room and plants a firm kiss on her lips before grabbing them hem of her sweatshirt. “Aye, milady. I’d expect you know that by now,” he answers nonchalantly, like he’s not in the middle of peeling her clothes off her body, “what with the _Jolly_ and the movie affinity, and the actual pirate costume I have.”

“I might have to encourage you to wear that for me some time,” she muses, tugging his shirt over his head and dragging his sweatpants down his legs using her feet.

A heated look crosses his face, and he answers her musings with his tongue in her mouth and hands on her body, and Emma is content to not talk any more.

* * *

 

Emma pouts when his phone begins ringing and tucks her arms more firmly around his bare chest. “No,” she says. “No bursting the bubble.”

Killian chuckles and kisses her as he loosens her grip before clambering out of his bed to the place where his phone is loudly disturbing them. “Sorry, love. That is the ringer for work, I have to get this.”

Emma watches as he answers the phone and rolls his eyes. “Rob, you are supposed to be _off duty_. Aren’t you leaving for your honeymoon in less than twelve hours? Go hang out with your new wife. I got your cases covered.” He shoots Emma an annoyed look and she chuckles, knowing how much of a workaholic Robin is (and his wife too, for that matter). “Yes I can bloody well handle the tabloids questions if they are about me. It’s not like _US Weekly_ is expecting to speak to the source. I’m hanging up now. Enjoy your vacation.”

Killian ends the call and crosses the room, hopping up to rejoin Emma in bed. “Questions about you, huh?” she asks teasingly.

He chuckles. “Aye. Photos of us leaving the hotel this morning have surfaced,” he tells her, pulling up some of the pictures.

She looks at them and smiles at the image of her hand clasped in his. The _Emma Swan’s New Beau!_ headline doesn’t even bother her that much. “We look pretty good, don’t we?”

He grins, pleased at her reaction, and leans in to capture her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. “We certainly do. I’m not going to answer the questions for your publicist until later this evening, so you have some time to decide how you want to address these. But you may want to consider whether or not you are comfortable with confirming anything.”

“I told you I don’t care what people say about us. How about we just leave it at ‘no comment’ and just let them deduce what they will when we are inevitably spotted together out and about?” Emma suggests. “I don’t have any public appearances for a while, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“That sounds wonderful. Not only because it makes my job easier, but because it means I get to take you out on dates.”

She snuggles into his side, watching as he scrolls through the latest news about the two of them. It seems some of the sites have recognized Killian as the man she was photographed getting coffee with three months prior and are listing Killian as her unnamed, secret boyfriend. It’s not really even incorrect, so she’s not annoyed by the accusations. “You’re gonna take me on dates? I don’t remember you asking,” she teases him.

Killian rolls over. “Fine then,” he clears his throat, “Emma Swan, I really, _really_ like you, and I want to spend a good portion of my free time in your company. Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?” He is eyeing her very seriously and it makes her want to laugh, since neither of them are dressed in more than underwear (and in her case, a tanktop).

 She brings her finger up to tap on her bottom lip in mock consideration of his proposal. “Alright, fine, I’ll go on a date with you.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tight. “Good,” he mumbles.

She sighs into his embrace contently, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t mind spending every morning snuggled up in her boyfriend’s arms with her nose pressed into the space above his collarbone. For the first time in her life, Emma finally feels ready to let go of her hesitations completely and let herself be happy with this amazing man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with this update! I am planning on writing an epilogue but I can't quite work out exactly what all I want to include in it. So that will likely be a fairly long ways off. However, I like how this chapter ends, so I don't feel bad about making you guys wait ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think so far, whenever you start reading (even if it's after the whole story is finished).


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